


Facing the Music

by unlmtdsky



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Arrest, Depression, F/M, Humor, Interrogation, Isolation, Light Angst, Loyalty, Memories, Negotiations, POV Multiple, Post-Mass Effect 2: Arrival, Pre-Mass Effect 3, Scheming, Swearing, Unrequited Crush, email
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:47:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 36,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26936116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unlmtdsky/pseuds/unlmtdsky
Summary: Scenes from different character POVs spanning the 6 months or so between the end of ME2 (just after Arrival DLC) and the beginning of ME3. (Relationship Note: This is a Shepard who has remained loyal to Kaidan, but as is the case in-game, they are not together at this point.)Current chapters:1. Loyalties (Hackett)   2. Heroes (Vega)   3. Surrender (Shepard)   4. Truth (Alenko)   5. Homecoming (Vakarian)   6. Savior (Anderson)   7. Intelligence (Joker)   8. Diplomacy (Hackett)
Relationships: Kaidan Alenko/Female Shepard
Comments: 16
Kudos: 28





	1. Loyalties (Hackett)

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This story lovingly borrows characters, situations, lore, settings, etc from the world and creators of Mass Effect. I do not own these characters or the world they inhabit. This work is intended for entertainment purposes only.
> 
> Not sure yet when I’ll get to writing more of these, but I just got this idea of Hackett meeting with Kaidan in my head and wanted to start writing it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the immediate aftermath of Shepard’s actions in Bahak, Admiral Hackett talks with Major Alenko about where his loyalties lie.

“Major Alenko is here to see you, sir,” Hackett’s assistant said over the intercom. 

Admiral Hackett pinched the bridge of his nose before responding. He already knew this meeting was likely going to be... a complicated one.

“Alright. Give me two minutes and then send him in, Johnson.”

“Understood, sir.”

Hackett strode the several meters from his desk to the office window overlooking English Bay. The Vancouver sky was overcast and gray, and gulls hovered over the waterfront, coasting on invisible currents of air. It wasn’t often that Hackett was planetside these days, and he often missed this view when he was on Arcturus or the Everest. On warmer, sunnier days the view reminded him a bit of growing up along the Río de la Plata. Today, it carried a promise of peace and serenity that Hackett knew he’d need to cling to in the difficult weeks and months ahead.

He let out a slow, calming exhale as he gathered his thoughts. The past few days had been a whirlwind. Hackett had gone on standby when Shepard had notified him she was headed to rescue Dr. Kenson. Then two whole days passed without a word. The moment he'd received the Alliance priority alert about Bahak’s destruction, he’d immediately headed to rendezvous with Shepard and the Normandy. She briefed him on everything that had happened between arriving on Aratoht and the destruction of the system's relay; he warned her that she needed to be ready to face the consequences of her actions, however unfair that seemed to either of them. Shepard was a woman of honor, and she had agreed to remand herself over to Alliance custody in three days’ time, once arrangements had been made for her non-Alliance crew.

That had been about 48 hours ago, and Hackett had since returned to Vancouver to make all of the necessary arrangements both for Shepard’s surrender and her subsequent incarceration. Incarceration was perhaps a harsh word for it, but it would do—he knew Shepard well-enough to know that she would certainly find her confinement chafing. Anderson had agreed to personally assume custody of Shepard and the Normandy vessel, and he was currently on his way out to Omega to do so. Hackett hadn’t liked a single bit of it, but it had to be done. And now he was going to inform Alenko.

He’d only met the major in person once before today: at the Alliance memorial service held for Lt. Commander Jane Shepard after she was killed in action two and a half years ago. Alenko had spoken at the service in his capacity as the surviving ranking officer of the Normandy’s crew, but Hackett had presided over enough military funerals over the years that it was plain to him that the then-lieutenant’s relationship with Shepard went somewhat beyond the standard bounds of subordinate and commanding officer. A quiet inquiry to Anderson had confirmed his suspicions and helped fill in the missing pieces.

Today, Hackett was going to try and determine whether anything of Alenko’s relationship with Shepard had survived the commander’s death and resurrection.

Right on cue, the door to the office opened, and Hackett turned to watch Major Kaidan Alenko enter the room. The major seemed unsure, at first, whether to greet Hackett at the window or to approach the unattended desk, so he settled for pausing somewhere near the center of the sizable office.

“Admiral Hackett, sir,” Alenko said, giving a crisp, practiced salute.

“At ease, Major,” Hackett replied, returning the salute before walking back over towards his desk. “Please, sit.” He gestured for the major to have a seat in one of the two leather chairs angled in front of the desk while Hackett took a seat in his own chair behind it.

Hackett leaned forward slightly, resting his folded hands on his desk as he carefully studied the officer sitting before him. Alenko was still a relatively young man, but from what Hackett could remember of his appearance the day of Shepard’s memorial, the past few years had aged him. The man’s dark hair was thinning slightly at his temples, though he appeared to have been spared the early transition to gray that Hackett himself had experienced at a similar age. His light brown eyes were wary yet attentive; there was a keen intelligence but also warmth behind them. And he had a strong jawline covered in a day or two’s worth of stubble, likely a result of the time spent traveling to Vancouver to attend this hastily-arranged meeting.

“You are probably wondering why I requested to meet with you in-person and on such short notice, Major Alenko,” Hackett began.

“The timing _is_ curious, Admiral,” Alenko said, a tone of professional curiosity evident in his voice. Hackett knew he was referring to the news of the destruction of the Bahak System. It was practically all anyone had been talking about for two days. The Alliance had so far managed to keep Shepard’s involvement under wraps, but it would have been impossible to hide the destruction of a mass relay and an entire star system from the rest of the galaxy. The details contained in news reports were varied and mostly speculative, however, so Alenko likely had no inkling of the details Hackett was about to divulge.

 _Unless a certain commander had decided to fill the major in on her *top secret mission from Admiral Hackett*, of course_ , Hackett thought to himself.

“Indeed,” he acknowledged. “I’ll be honest with you, Major,” Hackett continued. “I brought you here to ask you one simple question.”

Alenko’s posture stiffened slightly, and he was unable to hide the subtle frown that briefly crossed his face. “You brought me all the way here to ask me one question?” He added quickly, “Sir?”

“Yes. One that was best asked and answered man-to-man,” Hackett said.

Hackett leaned back in his chair when Alenko slowly nodded, appearing to brace himself for whatever question could have possibly had Hackett dragging him in from halfway across the galaxy to answer.

“Major Alenko, I brought you here to ask you where your loyalties lie. Do they lie with the Alliance?” Hackett paused for a brief moment, and when Alenko looked as if he were about to interject, he continued, “Or with Jane Shepard?”

Alenko’s mouth closed and his eyebrows shot up in surprise as he processed Hackett’s question. Clearly the man hadn’t suspected that Hackett had brought him here to discuss Shepard. He _was_ completely unaware of Shepard’s involvement with Bahak then, which meant that Shepard had not communicated her intended actions or plans to Alenko. This confirmed something for Hackett about _Shepard’s_ loyalty, at least—not that it had really even been in question. Not as far as Hackett was concerned, anyway.

The major recovered from his surprise quickly. “Sir, my loyalty absolutely lies with the Alliance. No question.”

This was the response Hackett had been expecting: he hadn’t actually doubted Alenko’s commitment to the Alliance. Anderson had briefed Hackett on the events at Horizon a few months ago, and while he suspected that a few details may have been omitted from Alenko’s report, Alenko had made it clear that he had turned down a request to join Shepard in her work with Cerberus. When given a choice between the two, Alenko had already chosen the Alliance over Shepard. 

Major Alenko grew up in a military family and had an exemplary service record extending back over a dozen years. He was now one of the highest ranking biotics the Alliance had, and his work with the Spec Ops Biotic Division had impressed the rest of the Alliance brass—hence the recent promotion to major. The only smudges on his record were all related to his service under Commander Shepard, and today those smudges were an asset Hackett was hoping to capitalize upon. If Alenko held any remaining loyalty towards Shepard at all, that loyalty would be very useful to Hackett in the coming months.

“I’m glad to hear that, Major,” Hackett replied. “Then we have something to discuss.”

Alenko shifted uncomfortably in his chair but said nothing.

“The information I am about to share with you is highly classified. This conversation absolutely does not leave this office. Do you understand?” Hackett asked, his tone serious. There were only a handful of people who knew most of what they were about to discuss and only two who knew everything.

“Of course, sir,” Alenko agreed.

“Tell me: what have you heard about Bahak?” Hackett asked.

“Well,” Alenko began, “news reports say a large asteroid was diverted into its mass relay, essentially causing it to supernova and destroy the entire system. Over three hundred thousand batarian colonists on Aratoht are dead. The batarians are blaming humanity, claiming that it’s retaliation for the attempted extremist attack on our Terra Nova colony several years back. Apparently the Hegemony’s out for blood, but so far reports haven’t been able to identify the culprit—”

“We know who’s responsible for the destruction of Bahak,” Hackett interrupted, causing Alenko to freeze mid-sentence.

The two men stared at each other in silence for a long moment, before the major finally leaned forward slightly and asked, “Who?”

This was it. How Major Alenko reacted to Hackett’s next words would certainly tell Hackett what he needed to know.

“Jane Shepard.”

There was a brief moment where time seemed to stand still as Alenko processed the information. Then several things happened in quick succession.

A bright flash of blue briefly illuminated the room as Alenko’s biotics flared in conjunction with his emotional response to Hackett’s revelation. He shoved back in his chair and leapt to his feet, fists clenched at his sides. “Bullshit!” he growled at Hackett before turning and taking several steps away from the desk. Alenko rested one hand on the back of the chair he had been sitting in moments ago as he ran his other hand through his hair. Hackett could see that the man was shaking and his shoulders were taut with tension.

Before Hackett could say anything, the intercom speaker on his desk crackled to life. “Admiral? Do you need any assistance, sir?”

Of course the commotion had attracted the attention of Johnson, who was seated just outside the door. Hackett almost barked out a laugh. He _did_ need assistance—that was the entire goddamn point of this meeting. That wasn’t what his assistant meant, though, so he simply said, “No, Johnson. Everything is fine. Thank you.”

“Yessir,” Johnson replied. Then the intercom went quiet again.

A moment later, Hackett directed his words towards Alenko. “I know it’s difficult to hear, but I can assure you, Shepard _is_ responsible,” he said, waiting for the major to calm himself. He hadn’t anticipated Alenko’s biotic display, but the man’s visceral, incredulous reaction to the news about Shepard gave Hackett a piece of the answer he was looking for. “She has confirmed it. I’ve spoken with her myself.”

When Alenko turned around again, Hackett could read his inner anguish: it was his eyes that betrayed him. They were wide and wild, darting back and forth as if searching for some sort of explanation for this inexplicable news. He may have declared allegiance to the Alliance over Shepard, but it was clear that he had not written off Shepard entirely if this information had shaken him so deeply.

Hackett gestured calmly at the chair remaining in front of his desk. “Please, Major. Sit down,” he directed. Alenko practically collapsed into the chair and hunched forward slightly, running his fingers through his hair again in what was clearly a nervous habit.

“I—I just can’t believe that she would do something like this,” Alenko stammered. “It’s Cerberus. It has to be Cerberus, right?” There was a hint of desperation in his voice, as if he needed to know there was some outside explanation for Shepard’s actions, as if he might not be able to handle what it might mean if there wasn’t one.

Hackett paused a moment before responding. He wasn’t sure yet whether or not he wanted to divulge the truth behind his own involvement in Shepard’s presence in Bahak. As far as he was aware, that information was currently only known by himself and the commander. He trusted Shepard not to reveal it, but if Alenko realized that Shepard was taking this hit for Hackett, he wasn’t sure how Alenko would react. The man might take it upon himself to try and protect her by outing Hackett’s involvement. If that were to happen, Hackett might find himself being court-martialed right alongside Shepard instead of remaining in a position to help her.

“What if I told you that Shepard’s presence in the Bahak System had nothing to do with Cerberus? She was there without any Cerberus crew, without any crew at all,” Hackett said cautiously.

Alenko raised an eyebrow. “She was there without a team? She never goes on missions by herself.” He let out a shaky breath and leaned back in his chair, tilting his head and looking up at the ceiling.

Hackett had nodded in affirmation but didn’t say anything more. He only watched Alenko carefully as he considered this piece of information.

“If that’s true… My god, three hundred thousand dead.” He murmured the last sentence, still obviously shaken by the idea that Shepard could be responsible for so many deaths. “If Bahak _was_ Shepard’s doing, then I would say that she’s not the woman I—” Alenko cut himself off mid-thought, gaze dropping quickly to meet Hackett’s as if worried he might have guessed what he had been about to say. Hackett _could_ guess, of course, but only because he was aware of what Anderson had told him about their history. Alenko finished hastily “—then she’s not the same woman I served with on the Normandy.”

Alenko straightened suddenly as a thought seemed to occur to him. “Do you think... do you think she did it because of what happened to her and her family on Mindoir?”

Now it was Hackett’s turn to be surprised. Alenko thought that Shepard might have murdered hundreds of thousands of batarians as some sort of revenge for Mindoir? That she had, what, been harboring a secret hatred of batarians for 15 years until she had an opportunity to commit an act of terrorism by destroying an entire star system and killing three hundred thousand innocent batarian colonists? Hackett had judged that the man still held some affinity for Shepard, even if he no longer carried a torch for her. But if he thought Shepard was capable of _that_ , well… perhaps Alenko wouldn’t be as useful to Hackett as he had hoped.

“You served with Commander Shepard for over a year, Major." Hackett wanted to add something about their relationship, but didn't, though he hoped that Alenko was thinking of that as well. "Did she ever give you a reason to think she would be capable of doing something like that?” he asked.

Alenko appeared to think for a moment, then replied weakly, “I—I honestly don’t know."

Hackett was disappointed, but he had heard what he needed to know from Alenko. The major wasn’t an adversary of Shepard’s, but neither was he the unwavering ally Hackett had been hoping for. Whatever had existed between Alenko and Shepard in the past had been fundamentally altered in some way; Hackett wasn’t sure what that meant for the pair of them going forward, but he knew what it meant for his plans right now. There was no point in dragging this meeting out any longer. He stood abruptly and clasped his hands behind his back. Alenko leapt to his feet and mirrored Hackett’s pose.

“You should know that Shepard has agreed to turn herself over to Alliance custody—”

“What?” Alenko interrupted, breaking his pose to lean forward and place his palms on the desk. Hackett raised an eyebrow and the major quickly returned to parade rest, though he looked distraught.

“News of Shepard’s involvement in Bahak will likely break within the day; the Alliance was never going to be able to keep it under wraps for long. Admiral Anderson is currently en route to assume custody of Shepard and the Normandy and return them both to Vancouver. Shepard likely faces a court-martial, either for Bahak or her defection to Cerberus—probably both. She will remain in detention here at Alliance HQ while the Department of Internal Naval Affairs conducts its investigation, but she will likely stand trial within a few months. As a surviving officer of the original Normandy crew and because you encountered Shepard on Horizon, I am certain you will be subpoenaed to testify. Someone from DINA will be in touch about that, but for now, you may continue with your scheduled leave and then proceed to your temporary assignment.” 

Hackett waited to see if Alenko might try to argue in Shepard’s defense. For a moment, Alenko didn’t move, and Hackett thought that just maybe he had made a mistake in his appraisal of the man. But then Alenko simply nodded and brought his hand up in a salute. A final note of disappointment coursed through Hackett as he returned the salute and dismissed the major. He watched as the man turned and made his way towards the door of the office.

Just as Alenko placed his hand on the doorknob, he paused. Glancing back at Hackett, he asked solemnly, “Will you look out for her?”

Hackett sighed. “Shepard has a lot of enemies right now, Alenko. And few allies.” He gave the man a pointed look, then said, “But I can assure you, I am in the latter group.”

Alenko simply nodded, then opened the door and left, letting it swing closed behind him.

Hackett sat down heavily in his chair, lowering his head into his hands and rubbing his fingers along his temples. This whole situation was an absolute mess, and Hackett had just watched one of the few potential allies Shepard might’ve had walk out his door. He hoped Anderson would have better luck recruiting Lieutenant Vega to their cause. If he didn’t... the list of Shepard’s allies would remain dangerously short.

Hackett glanced at a datapad sitting on his desk. He tapped it, causing the screen to flicker to life. On it was a message from Dr. Liara T’Soni, the asari Prothean expert who had been a part of Shepard’s original Normandy crew. Hackett had been in communication with her several times over the past two and a half years, even going so far as to reach out to the asari to pass on Shepard’s dog tags, which had been recovered from Alchera. T’Soni _was_ on Shepard’s short list of allies, and ever since she had reached out to him under her guise as the Shadow Broker, Hackett knew she would be an extremely powerful one. She had contacted him about the possible existence of records in the Mars Archives that could help them prepare for the coming fight against the Reapers, but he could reply to that correspondence in a little while. First, he needed to write to Anderson.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
 **From: Adm. Steven Hackett <steven.hackett@sysalliance.nav.mil>  
** **To: Adm. David Anderson <david.anderson@sysalliance.nav.mil>  
** **Sent: 23 MAR 2186 at 1023:15 PST (23 MAR 2186 at 1723:15 UTC)  
** **Subject: Alenko**

David,

The meeting with Alenko was a bust. I don’t think he’s a liability to Shepard, but we can’t use him. Let me know how things go on Omega. I hope you have better luck with Vega than I did with Alenko.

Steven  
  
  


*****


	2. Heroes (Vega)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James Vega is assigned to guard duty as the Normandy travels from Omega to Earth. He meets a couple of his heroes and spends some time examining one of his hero's most prized possessions.

“Commander… Shepard?” James asked, unable to keep the note of incredulity from his voice.

“Yes,” Admiral Anderson replied simply, as if he hadn't just given James one of the biggest shocks of his life. “Is that going to be a problem?”

What James thought was, _Is he fucking with me right now?_ But what he said was, “No, sir. It won’t be a problem.”

“Good.” Anderson gestured vaguely around them. “Then welcome aboard the Normandy, Lieutenant.” James resisted the temptation to gawk at his surroundings as he followed the Admiral through the ship and down to the CIC. 

James was in a decidedly conflicted emotional state at the moment. A few years ago, he would have given anything for a chance to be standing aboard the Normandy. Then she was destroyed in an attack, and he would have never believed it possible to be aboard the Normandy again. Being here today should be a dream come true. But to be standing here for the reason Anderson just laid on him? After the bar fight he had just had an hour ago? And after everything he'd been through on Fehl Prime? It all just didn’t seem right or real somehow.

None of the flight crew gave James or Anderson a second look as they passed by. Many were wearing Alliance BDUs, but a few were wearing uniforms in black and white. When Anderson reached the elevator, he summoned the lift and turned to address James again while they waited.

“The crew deck is one level down, Vega. Why don’t you head down there and… clean yourself up. Visit Dr. Chakwas in the med bay if you need to. When you’re finished, report to the top deck. I’m heading up now to speak with our pri—uh, the commander,” Anderson instructed.

“Sounds good, sir. I’ll be up shortly,” James replied, frowning. Anderson had said he'd brought James here to guard Commander Shepard, which meant she was in Alliance custody: effectively a prisoner. But just now he had shirked from the term and instead referred to her by her rank. James idly wondered if Shepard was even technically in the Alliance anymore since she had been officially declared killed in action several years ago. This situation was obviously far more complicated than he understood.

“Alright then,” Anderson said, stepping onto the elevator when it arrived. He nodded at James as the door slid closed. James was left with a few moments to himself as he waited for the lift to take Anderson to the upper deck and then come back down to the CIC so he could board.

While he waited, his thoughts raced as he tried to wrap his head around the situation laid out before him. Until today, as far as James had been officially aware, Commander Shepard had been killed and the Normandy had been destroyed two and a half years ago. He had recently begun hearing rumors that Commander Shepard had been spotted alive, but without any official word, he had mostly just dismissed the rumors as spurious. Yet here he was, standing on the Normandy—or at least _a_ Normandy. This one appeared to be larger than the original and clearly built by outside contractors given the lack of Alliance insignia inside, but it was the Normandy.

And what had happened in the couple of days since Bahak? James had seen the reports, of course, and when the news broke yesterday afternoon that a very alive Commander Shepard was allegedly responsible for the destruction of the relay, he hadn’t believed it. Hell, that was what the tussle with the batarians today at the bar had been about. But here was Shepard and her ship in Alliance custody… so was it true? Had she been captured? Or had she turned herself in? And if it wasn’t true, why was she a prisoner who needed a guard? Was he here to guard her from escaping or to guard her against outside attack? He had many questions and few answers.

The elevator arrived back at the CIC and the door opened, allowing James to board. He leaned against the back wall of the elevator and closed his eyes as he waited for the lift to descend one level. His thoughts lingered on Commander Shepard. Whether or not she was guilty, James knew that her life was in danger—he’d heard for himself that the Hegemony was calling for her head. And those batarians had told him today they'd wanted payback: "Shepard Lover" they'd called him when he'd defended her. He just hoped Anderson was going to brief him further when he reported to the top deck.

 _Well, shit,_ James thought, opening his eyes and running his hand over his short mohawk. _This day has absolutely not gone the way I would have guessed when I woke up this morning_.

A moment later, the door opened on the crew deck to reveal a pair of men standing in a hallway, clearly waiting for the elevator themselves. James was about to step out when he realized that he recognized the shorter of the two men.

“Joker!” He couldn’t help himself as he thrust out his hand, unable to contain his excitement.

“Uh, hi. Do I know you?” Joker replied, hesitantly placing his hand in James’s. Apparently James squeezed it a little too hard when he shook it because Joker winced.

“Sorry, man,” he said, immediately releasing Joker’s hand. Joker tentatively flexed his fingers a couple of times, as if checking to make sure nothing was broken. “Nah, you don’t know me. But I know you—you’re the Normandy’s pilot.”

“Not for much longer,” Joker grumbled under his breath as he glanced uncomfortably at the taller man standing next to him. James looked closely at the second man for the first time and realized that he appeared to be a guard of some kind. He wasn’t restraining the pilot in any way, but his stern demeanor was all business.

“Well, I was a fan of yours even before I saw those vids of you heroically leading the Fifth Fleet in to save the Destiny Ascension and perform the critical strike against Sovereign in the Battle of the Citadel,” James said.

Joker sported a cocky grin at that. “Yeah, that was pretty awesome, wasn’t it.”

“Yessir,” James said. “Some of the best damn flying I’ve ever seen. Don’t tell my buddy Cortez I said that.”

“Uh, sure,” Joker replied, raising an eyebrow slightly in confusion. 

_Duh_ , James thought as he tried to calm his nerves at meeting one of his longtime heroes. _Joker doesn't know you and he obviously wouldn't know who Cortez is. Cool it, Vega._

Joker cleared his throat awkwardly. “Well, hey, nice meeting you and all, but I should, uh, get back to it. This might be my last flight for a while, and I don’t want to spend it in the hallway.”

“Oh, of course. Sorry,” James said quickly, stepping out of the elevator and dodging to one side so Joker and his escort could enter the lift. 

Before the door could shut, Joker called out, “Hey, what did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t,” James replied, giving a casual salute to the pilot. Then, just as the door closed, he added, “It’s James Vega.”

“See ya, James,” Joker called back, returning a brief wave.

 _This day just keeps getting crazier and crazier_ , James thought, shaking his head as he followed the signage and made his way down the hallway towards the men’s facilities. First, Anderson had tracked him down on Omega and dragged James's sorry ass onto one of the most famous ships in the galaxy. Then he’d been told he was going to be guarding Commander Shepard—his hero and someone he’d believed to be dead until recently. Now he’d run into Joker, a hotshot pilot and one of the Normandy’s original crew. _Who else from the original Normandy might I meet today… badass turian sniper Garrus Vakarian?_ He hadn't seen any non-humans aboard so far, but a man could hope.

James reached the men’s restroom, and when he entered, he found it was empty. The whole ship had been fairly empty, now that he thought about it. The Normandy seemed to be running with a skeleton crew. He glanced around the space and found that it was actually pretty nice for a military ship, though, he supposed, this Normandy technically wasn’t a military vessel if it had been the project of a civilian organization.

Pausing in front of the mirror, James finally got a glimpse of the injuries he’d suffered during his altercation with the batarians earlier. The damage wasn’t as bad as he’d expected. The worst visible injury was along his hairline where his skull had collided with a batarian’s mouth; blood matted his hair, and he could see it smeared along his temple where he must have unknowingly wiped at it. Another gash crossed his bicep, and a trail of blood snaked its way down along his arm—he didn’t even remember when he got that cut, though it might have been when he’d crashed off a balcony and used a batarian as a crash pad. He'd probably be sporting some spectacular bruises later, too, but all in all, he’d come away from the scrap fairly well off, given the circumstances.

James reached under an automatic faucet and cupped his hands under the warm water. He splashed his face and scrubbed at his temple and hair until the water circling the sink’s drain ran clear. He repeated the process for the wound on his bicep, using his other hand to splash water onto his arm and rub at his skin until the blood was gone. There were a couple of towels folded on a shelf near the shower stalls, so James grabbed one and used it to dry himself off.

The wounds themselves didn’t seem particularly bad—they weren’t even really bleeding anymore and certainly weren’t worth visiting the med bay over. James had _definitely_ had worse. He might be a little sore later, but it was nothing a couple of low-grade analgesics couldn’t handle.

He glanced in the mirror to inspect himself one last time. His injuries were cleaned up, and he brushed some dirt off his shirt. James ran a hand over his head and fluffed his now-damp mohawk so it would dry just right. There was still some blood staining his sleeve, but nothing could be done about that; he didn’t have any spare clothes to change into.

Finally satisfied he’d done all he could to clean up, James tossed the towel in the laundry and headed back out into the hallway. He didn’t have to wait long for the elevator to arrive, and he boarded it, pressing the panel indicator for the top deck. _This is it_ , he realized. He was about to meet Commander Shepard. 

A short elevator ride later, the door opened, depositing James into a small space between the elevator and a locked door which had signage next to it indicating that this was the captain’s cabin. Next to the door sat a small, empty chair—a bit too small for James’s large frame, but likely the best thing that could be gotten on short notice. Ships tended to not have a lot of furniture that wasn't bolted to the floor. He supposed it would be better than standing the whole time or sitting on the ground.

James approached the closed door cautiously, unsure of whether the admiral meant for him to sit in the chair and wait or enter the cabin and join in the debrief. He was about to knock when he heard a raised but slightly muffled voice through the door. He paused, his fist held in mid-air as he listened.

“—don’t _understand_ , Anderson,” a female voice was saying loudly. James’s breath caught in his throat. _Was that Commander Shepard?_

“Then _help_ me understand,” came Anderson’s exasperated reply.

The words that followed were quieter and James couldn’t understand them, despite straining his ears and nearly pressing his head up against the door. He thought it sounded like Shepard must have moved away from the door, which had made it hard to make out her voice at all.

He was still leaning unnaturally close to the door when the lock panel flashed from red to green a minute later. James leapt back a step to avoid being caught eavesdropping, standing stiffly at attention as the door slid open to reveal Anderson. The admiral looked unhappy with however his conversation with the commander had just gone down, and he was carrying a box that appeared to be loaded with two computer terminals, a handful of datapads, and some other items James couldn’t clearly see.

Anderson looked at James appraisingly for a moment, apparently checking to see that he had indeed cleaned himself up, before turning and calling back into the room. As he spoke, James tried his best to peer around the man and get a glimpse of Commander Shepard, but Anderson stood directly in his line of sight and the commander must have been all the way across the cabin.

“Think about what I said, Shepard. We will arrive in Vancouver tomorrow, and you can damn well expect that plenty of people are going to want to ask you questions—and tougher ones than I’ve been asking, at that. Pack a single duffel and be ready by 0900 tomorrow. Make sure you're wearing civvies—nothing with that damn logo on it. If there are any personal effects from your quarters that you’d like placed in storage for you, box them up and give them to Lieutenant Vega here.”

A single grunt is all the reply the commander gave, and Anderson turned to step fully out of the cabin and into the hall so that the door could slide closed behind him. The box he was carrying must have been heavier than it looked because Anderson shifted it in his arms so he had a better grip on it.

“Do you want any help carrying that?” James asked. When Anderson narrowed his eyes at James, he quickly added, “Sorry. Just trying to be helpful. Sir.”

“What would help me would be for you to sit your ass down in this chair and make sure Commander Shepard _stays put_ until we arrive in Vancouver.” Anderson glanced at the door while he spoke, almost as if he half-expected Shepard to be listening in through the door.

“Yessir,” James replied, hastily moving to sit his oversized frame in the tiny chair. He looked up at Anderson, trying not to smirk up at him while awaiting further instructions.

Anderson rolled his eyes before continuing. “As you heard, we arrive around 0900. Until I summon you in the morning, ensure Commander Shepard remains in these quarters. As I have taken command of this vessel, technically this is my cabin, so she no longer has ability to lock you out. However, you should stay out here unless you feel you have reason to enter. Just let her be for now.” Anderson looked over at the door again, this time a slightly pained expression flitting across his face. He sighed before looking back at James. “Ensign Choa will relieve you at 1800 for dinner. Message her at any other point if you need a break—she'll be on call. I’ll forward you her contact after I get back down to the CIC. Message me if there are any problems. Questions?”

James considered. Dinner at 1800. Otherwise, sit here and make sure Shepard doesn’t leave until 0900 tomorrow. Fairly simple. Except…

“Just one. Um, what if Shepard tries to leave, sir? Am I supposed to…” James trailed off, hoping Anderson wouldn’t make him finish that sentence.

Anderson chuckled. “Honestly, I’m not sure you could stop her if she really wanted to leave, Vega—though it’s not like she could get far on this ship. But I don’t think it will come to that. She’s agreed to turn herself over to Alliance custody. She knows it’s in her best interest not to cause trouble.”

James wasn’t exactly mollified by Anderson’s reply. First, the suggestion that James couldn’t prevent another soldier—even one as capable as Commander Shepard—from leaving a room was slightly rankling. It was extremely rare that anyone bested James in a spar, and James's nature was to immediately take the implication as a challenge. Second, Anderson hadn’t actually answered the question. If Shepard tried to leave, what _was_ James supposed to do? Ask her politely to please go back into her room? Stand here and wave at her as she waited for the elevator? Tackle her to the ground? Restrain her? James swallowed hard as he considered these options, then tried to direct his focus back on the admiral standing in front of him.

“Understood, sir,” was all James said, and Anderson looked satisfied by the reply. He boarded the elevator that hadn’t yet left the floor from when James had arrived on it minutes ago. “One more thing, Vega,” he said before he closed the door. “We’ve confiscated Shepard’s terminals and her omni-tool. Don’t let her sweet talk you into giving her yours. She’s to have no unsanctioned or unsupervised communications while in Alliance custody.”

James nodded and Anderson hit the panel, closing the elevator door and leaving James alone with his thoughts. He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes and resting the back of his head against the cool metal wall behind him.

 _Commander Shepard_ _is just on the other side of that door_ , James mused, still in disbelief over where this day had brought him. _The_ Commander Shepard. He had been in awe of her since he had first seen her on Alliance recruitment ads that started popping up after Elysium. James had been a new recruit during the Blitz, and the first time he’d seen one of those vids, he hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t spent at least one lonely night in his bunk thinking about her while—

He coughed suddenly and sat up, eyes flying open as he realized where his thoughts were heading. _Okay, James. Keep it together_. Now wasn’t really the time for _that_ sort of reminiscing. Particularly given the job he was here to do.

 _Alright, Operation Distraction is a go_ , he thought, activating his omni-tool and skimming through his stored media. He decided to split the difference between thinking about Commander Shepard and thinking about Commander Shepard like _that_ by pulling up a docuvid about the Normandy crew and the Battle of the Citadel. Given where he was sitting right now and that he was on board with some of those original crew, it seemed fitting. Plus, it wouldn’t hurt to refresh his memory if he was going to be on this assignment for any length of time.

  
***

  
A few hours later, James was halfway through a second vid about Elysium when the elevator door began to open. He glanced at the time, then quickly shut down his omni-tool and stood up, stretching. When the door opened, a young woman stepped out.

“Are you Choa?” Vega asked.

“Yessir, Lieutenant. I’m here to give you a dinner break,” she replied.

“Thanks, Ensign. I’ll be back in 30.” He began to walk past her towards the elevator, then paused before boarding it. Looking back over his shoulder, he added, “You’ve got my contact—message me if something happens. I’ll be back within a minute.”

Choa’s eyes widened a bit as if considering for the first time that she might be in some sort of danger. James didn’t think it likely that Shepard posed any sort of threat, but he’d rather have the Ensign on her guard.

He nodded at her, then quickly stepped onto the elevator and took it down to the mess. After grabbing a food tray and some coffee, James sat down to eat and took in the bustle around him. Sitting upstairs in the silence and solitude of the small hallway between the elevator and the captain’s quarters had started to get to him after just a couple of hours. He was grateful to spend a few minutes around some of the other crew, even if they largely ignored him.

As he ate, James let his gaze wander around the Normandy’s mess. There weren’t too many people around, he noticed, maybe only 12 or so currently eating dinner. He wasn’t sure how many personnel total the ship was carrying at the moment, but small numbers during prime mealtime reaffirmed his supposition that the Normandy seemed to be running on a skeleton crew. He noticed once again the black and white uniforms that a couple of the crew were wearing. Those few sat separate from the Alliance crew. They all had one thing in common, though, James realized, and that was that every crew member, no matter what uniform they were wearing, seemed intensely on edge. There wasn't the typical laughter and good-natured ribbing that James was used to observing during meals with soldiers.

James kept an eye on the clock, and when his break was just about up, he bussed his tray and refilled his coffee. If he was going to be on guard duty until 0900, he’d need a lot of caffeine. Of course, he’d need to avoid having to hit the head every 45 minutes, so he’d have to find the perfect balancing act between not too much liquid but enough caffeine to keep himself awake.

At precisely 1830, James headed back to the upper deck. When the elevator door opened, he found Ensign Choa perched on the chair he had vacated. She seemed nervous and on edge, but when she spotted him, her whole demeanor seemed to relax.

“I’m back, Ensign. Is everything alright?” he asked.

“Yes, of course, Lieutenant. Thankfully, there wasn’t any trouble,” the ensign replied.

“Were you expecting trouble?”

Choa stood and wrung her hands nervously, then glanced at the cabin door she had been guarding. “Um, not really. But I heard what the commander is accused of.” She dropped her voice to a whisper and glanced around before adding, “And she’s a biotic.”

James frowned. “So? I can’t imagine the commander is guilty of what they say, but even if she is, she certainly didn’t destroy a mass relay with her biotics.”

Choa did let out a nervous laugh at that. “Right. Of course not. I didn’t mean anything by it, sir,” she said. “I should go. Admiral Anderson told me I’m on call to relieve you if you need a break between now and when we arrive at Earth. Just message me.” And with that, she hurried onto the elevator and disappeared to the crew deck below.

James scratched his head and then rolled his neck from side to side, stretching and flexing to give himself a little bit of a break before he had to settle back into his uncomfortable guard’s chair for the night. Just as he was twisting his torso to the side and in an attempt to stretch his back, however, he paused, listening intently. _Are those… voices?_

Walking cautiously towards the door to the captain’s quarters, James leaned his body towards it, making sure to stay clear of the door’s electronic panel, which was still lit up green. He cocked his head and, sure enough, the sound of muffled female voices could be heard through the door.

James found himself frowning for the second time within the span of a few minutes. He couldn’t make out what the voices were saying, but they were distinctly female. And he was certain there were two separate voices. But if Anderson had taken away Shepard’s terminals and omni-tool, who could she be talking to in there? Was she talking to herself? But then why would she use two different voices? _Maybe the commander really is cracked_ , he thought worriedly.

James wasn't sure what he should do. Anderson had specifically told him that Shepard wasn't to have any unsanctioned communication. But maybe if James could hear what she was saying...

He carefully placed his hand on the door to steady himself and then turned his head, pressing his ear against the cool metal. The voices were slightly louder this way, but he could still only just barely make anything out. Only a few words came through clearly: “Joker,” “Alliance,” and “trial.” But one word, however, James couldn’t quite figure out what she meant by: “Reapers.” The word sparked a vague recollection in James’s mind, but he couldn’t place it. He thought that reapers were machines used to harvest crops back on Earth or in the farming colonies, or there was that one centuries-old rock song about not being afraid of a reaper that he thought he could recall some of the lyrics to. But he couldn’t figure out why Shepard would be talking about either of those things.

Before he could think on it any further, the voices suddenly cut off and James found himself stumbling to catch his footing as the door he had been leaning against rapidly swished open. As he caught his hand on the doorframe and straightened, he found himself standing face-to-face with a pissed off-looking Commander Shepard.

And the absolute first thought that entered James’s mind was how _beautiful_ she was.

Shepard stood straight and tall, though she still was a few inches shorter than James. Her instantly-recognizable dark red hair was cut in a shoulder-length bob that framed her face, and her emerald eyes sparkled with a feral ferocity as she scowled at him. She looked much as he recalled from vids, only slightly older than he remembered—a more mature version of the younger woman she’d been a decade ago during the Blitz. Her skin was soft and pale, marred in several places by some healing cuts and bruises from a recent fight. He noticed that her nose and cheeks were peppered with light brown freckles, and as close as he was standing to her, he could see every single one. And her lips were—

The moment James realized his gaze was lingering on her mouth, his eyes shot up to meet hers, and he prayed that she hadn’t noticed. The glare she was turning on him seemed to intensify, however, and he felt like someone had punched him in the gut as he realized that she apparently _had_ noticed. _Oh boy._ He was in trouble.

She folded her arms across her chest and demanded, “Can I help you, soldier?”

 _Shit._ He needed to come up with a quick explanation for why he had been so close to her door that he’d practically fallen into her arms when she’d opened it.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said quickly. “I, uh, wanted to see if you’d boxed up any personal items for me to pass along to Admiral Anderson for you.” Thank God he’d always been pretty good at thinking on his feet. That was a perfectly good reason for him to be bothering her. _Right_ _?_

She narrowed her glittering green eyes at him, scrutinizing him. He swallowed and tried not to fidget. James had never felt so sized up by a single glance before. His skin felt almost tingly beneath her gaze, and he wondered briefly if she might be using her biotics on him somehow before immediately dismissing it.

Without a word, she turned on her heel and strode back into the cabin. James remained where he was, but he took the opportunity to glance quickly around the room. He spotted her duffel bag, half-packed, sitting on a desk in a small office area just inside the door. The sleeping area seemed to be down a small set of stairs, and that was apparently where Shepard had disappeared to. And all along the left-hand side was… a giant tank full of tropical fish? That… was not what James had been expecting to find in the captain's quarters of a spaceship.

He barely had a chance to take a cursory look around when Shepard was returning, walking up the small set of stairs with a medium-sized footlocker in her arms. It didn’t appear to be particularly heavy, though he had no idea what it contained.

“Here,” she muttered, shoving the container at him. “These are the personal effects I want stored while I’m in custody.” James grabbed hold of the footlocker, holding it gingerly in front of him.

“Is this all?” he asked, furrowing his brow. It seemed a bit sad that this small footlocker contained everything important to her in her life.

She simply glowered at him.

“Ooo-kay then. I’ll make sure this gets to Anderson, Commander.”

To his surprise, Shepard winced at that. A look of concern must have passed over his face, because her expression softened and she sighed before explaining, “It’s just—you probably shouldn’t call me that, Vega.”

He was about to ask her why not, when she interrupted him. “Goodnight, Lieutenant,” she said, he thought not unkindly.

“Goodnight, Commander,” he replied, ignoring her request. As far as James was concerned, this was Commander Shepard and she had earned her title and deserved his respect. She rolled her eyes and turned away from the door, which closed between them.

James stood frozen in place for a moment, staring at the place where Shepard had disappeared behind the closed door. Finally, he sat down heavily in his chair, the footlocker sitting on his lap. It was of fairly nice, solid construction, and he noticed that the name “Shepard” was engraved on the lid. This certainly wasn’t a standard Alliance-issue footlocker, and it seemed fairly new. This was not something she’d been packing her stuff around in her whole military career. Of course, he realized, all of her belongings had probably been destroyed with the first Normandy. Everything she owned now probably had to be less than a year old, maybe even only a few months.

The thought made him infinitely sad.

He noticed suddenly that the footlocker itself wasn’t locked. There _was_ a locking mechanism, but it had been disabled. Shepard had likely realized that there was no way the Alliance wasn’t going to search her belongings and so hadn’t bothered locking them out. Of course, that also meant that _he_ wasn’t locked out. 

Would it be wrong of him to open it? It would be an invasion of her privacy, right? On the other hand, this footlocker belonged to _Commander Shepard_. Hero of Elysium. First Human Spectre. Hero of the Citadel. How could he pass up a chance to see what items his personal hero held most dear? He was dying to know.

He glanced surreptitiously around the space he was occupying and didn’t see any obvious cameras observing him. There was no noise coming from the cabin behind him, and he doubted she was going to come back out here to check up on him after that uncomfortable good night.

Curiosity and the threat of impending boredom getting the better of him, James decided he couldn’t pass up the opportunity. And if he was caught, he could just claim he was conducting an inspection of her belongings as part of his job as Shepard’s guardian. Or her guard. Whatever.

He shifted the footlocker carefully on his lap so that it was perched sturdily on his knees. Carefully, James swung open the lid, letting it hang open. The locker didn’t appear to contain many items, explaining why it hadn’t been particularly heavy.

On the very top, James found a digital picture frame that had been turned off. The screen was black, and he began to wonder who was important enough for the Commander to have in a picture frame. Was it an old family photo, perhaps? He knew they had been killed when her colony was attacked as a teen. Or maybe it was a picture of the original Normandy crew—now that was something James would love to see.

Practically vibrating with excitement, James flipped over the frame and found the power button on the back. He pressed it, then turned the frame back over to see what or whose image had appeared. To his surprise, it was a portrait of a man. It was a man James thought he vaguely recognized, though he couldn’t place him right away. The man looked to be around the same age as the commander, but he was dark-haired, brown-eyed, and strong-jawed. Probably not a relative.

He studied the face carefully, when all of a sudden, it clicked: he had seen this man before— _today_ , in fact—in photos and vids of about the Normandy. This man was one of the Normandy’s original crew. _Now this is a fascinating development_ , James thought.

James quickly turned off the digital frame and set it aside before pulling up a search on his omni-tool. Within moments, he had names and photos of all the original Normandy crew members. Scanning the list, he came to the photo and name he was looking for: Staff Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko. The other human biotic on Shepard’s crew. _Very interesting_.

That Shepard kept a digital photo of a fellow officer she served with on a ship over two years ago in her personal quarters told James that the man meant something to her. It was literally the only photo she had. He wondered if they were an item, though he thought he’d have heard something about that. Commander Shepard fraternizing with an officer under her command? Yeah, he’d have heard something if that were common knowledge.

Without more information to go on, he had to let the matter go for now. He turned his attention back to the footlocker and pulled out what appeared to be a piece of clothing that was lying on top of whatever else was in the bottom of the container. He lifted it, holding it up in front of him. It was a black sleeveless dress with a high collar but a plunging neckline. There was a matching pair of heels in the locker, as well. He tried (but failed) not to imagine the commander wearing such a sexy number. Why in heaven’s name did she have this aboard a ship? She obviously knew she’d have no need of it where she was headed, which was why it was in this locker instead of her duffel.

After a moment, James realized he was holding in his hands something that had, at some point, hugged the commander’s slender curves. He gulped, then hastily folded the dress and set it on the floor next to the frame along with the pair of heels. James let out a long, slow breath. This inspection was getting to be a little more intimate than he had bargained for. Did he really want to keep going?

When James forced himself to look back at the footlocker, he furrowed his brow in confusion as he realized what had been lying beneath the dress. There were only a couple more items, actually, but one of them in particular puzzled James. It was the helmet from the commander’s armor. Surely her armor was stored down in the armory. What was this doing in here?

He reached into the footlocker and carefully pulled out the helmet, but as soon as he began to lift it free, he realized there was no way this was part of Shepard’s current armor set.

The helmet was painted a deep black with a thick red stripe on the top, though you would barely know it because of how badly the outer plating was charred and scored. The helmet was clearly damaged beyond use; there’s no way this was Shepard’s current helmet. It had been through some _serious_ shit. He held it carefully in his hands and turned it this way and that, inspecting the damage. It was hard to believe the commander could have survived whatever would have caused this amount of damage to the helmet—

And then a realization hit him. _Madre de Dios_.

_This was the helmet Shepard was wearing when the Normandy went down._

James practically dropped the helmet back into the footlocker, being just careful enough not to damage it further or create a lot of noise that might attract the commander’s attention.

Commander Shepard _had_ died when the Normandy went down. Or, well, she had done something close to dying. He still wasn’t entirely sure how she _wasn’t_ dead—he remembered how shocked he had been when he had heard the news. And now that he had seen her helmet? _Fucking Christ._

He shuddered as he realized that he had just been holding in his hands the very helmet that had been around the head of the woman in the other room when she had been thrown into space and her ship was destroyed around her. He almost felt like he was going to be sick at the thought of it. James glanced at the damaged helmet again. How in the hell had she ever survived something like that? Not only that—she had survived it _and_ she looked barely the worse for wear? _What in the fuck has that poor woman been through?_

Shaken as he was, James nearly packed everything right back up in the footlocker and wrapped up this whole exercise right then and there. But he had examined nearly every item, and since he had come this far… he figured he might as go all the way.

Taking a deep breath, he peered back into the footlocker, deliberately keeping his gaze away from the helmet that sat in the left side of the container. On the bottom of the right half were a couple of paper books. Paper reading materials were fairly rare these days, so it piqued his interest to find them here.

He picked up the small stack and rifled through them, glancing at the titles. _Of Human Bondage_ by W. Somerset Maugham. _Walden_ by Henry David Thoreau. _Frankenstein_ by Mary Shelley. James had never read any of them. While the books had been printed much more recently, a quick check told him that these titles were hundreds of years old. He never would have pegged Shepard as a reader of old Earth literature. But it made him smile a little bit to imagine this softer side to her.

Setting the books down, he realized there was only one item left in the bottom of the locker. He pulled the item out, then shifted the footlocker to the floor so that it was off his lap and he could examine this final item more closely. It was a frame of sorts—no, more of a shadowbox, he thought it was called. Instead of containing a photograph, the frame held an object. James sucked in a breath as he realized what the object was: Shepard’s dog tags.

Holding her dog tags in his hands, even more so than the helmet or the slinky dress, felt like an invasion of Shepard’s privacy. Sure, dog tags were of utilitarian importance for the identification of a body if a soldier were to be killed in action—but they were so much more than that. They were a reminder that even though you were part of a large, faceless organization like the Alliance—you were still a unique person, an individual. No two dog tags would have the same information, of course, because no two soldiers were the same. Dog tags were imprinted with the most vital information about you that you'd want someone to know if your body was recovered after a severe injury or death; they were as personal as it got.

Since dog tags were worn under the uniform and close to one’s heart, it was rare to hold another soldier’s dog tags in your hands. In fact, James didn't think he'd ever held another soldier's tags. Holding Shepard’s now— _especially_ when she was alive and only a few meters away and hadn’t given him her permission—felt like a violation. And yet.

And yet, he felt drawn to them. He needed to do more than just look at them through the glass. He wanted to hold them in his hands. Feel the cold metal beneath his fingertips. Run his fingers over the raised lettering.

Turning the framed box over, James found the catch and opened the frame. He carefully lifted out the dog tags, holding them up so he could examine them closely. On the one side was the iconic N7 logo: black lettering against a small stripe of red meant to represent the blood sacrificed to earn the designation. Shepard had been one of the only women ever to earn the honor, and he was not surprised to see it engraved on one side of her dog tags. Most soldiers, including James, just had the Alliance logo engraved on theirs.

James was holding the chain in his left hand, so he reached out his right hand and took the dog tags between his fingers, flipping them over so he could see the inscription on the back. He smoothed his thumb over the text, feeling the raised text imprinted there. He then read the inscription quickly.  
  


LT CMDR JANE K SHEPARD N7  
SERV NO 5923-AC-2826  
O NEG  
ATHEIST

  
James blinked. _Jane. Jane Shepard. Her first name is Jane?_ James tried to think back—he _must_ have heard before that her first name was Jane, right? But no, he honestly didn’t think he’d ever heard anyone refer to her with anything other than her last name and her rank.

He spoke her name aloud, softly, just to feel how it sounded in his mouth. He found that it seemed strange and unfamiliar, unfitting and almost too plain for this stunning, heroic woman who he knew to be an absolute force of nature.

He brought the tags closer in order to inspect them more carefully, and he noticed that these tags were not in particularly good condition. The lettering was still clear, but the edges of the tags were rough and the metal was damaged and charred, much as the helmet had been. James realized that Shepard must have been wearing these when the Normandy had gone down, too.

As he held this precious item in his hand, James frowned. These tags obviously meant something to Shepard if she had kept them all this time and bothered to frame them. But why wasn't she wearing them? This might be the biggest sign James had seen that Shepard, at least, no longer considered herself to be part of the Alliance. It helped explain why she didn't want him calling her commander, anyway.

Almost reverently, James placed the dog tags back in their frame and began carefully returning all of the items to the footlocker. These were the prized possessions of Commander Shepard, after all. They deserved his respect.

Finally, James closed the lid on the locker and set it down by his feet. He’d carry it down with him when Ensign Choa gave him a break in a few hours. Until then, he closed his eyes and once again leaned his head back against the cool metal of the wall behind him.

He thought about everything that had happened today, and everything that had brought him to today. To this moment. To sitting outside the quarters of his resurrected hero, Commander _Jane_ Shepard.

Anderson had told him today that he needed to pick himself back up, that he needed to get over what had happened on Fehl Prime. He wasn’t exactly sure how to do that or if he was even ready to. Not yet, anyway. But he thought he might just be in the right place to start figuring it out.

  
*****

 **  
From: Adm. David Anderson <david.anderson@sysalliance.nav.mil>  
** **To: Adm. Steven Hackett <steven.hackett@sysalliance.nav.mil>  
** **Sent: 24 MAR 2186 at 2315:56 UTC (24 MAR 2186 at 1615:56 PST)  
** **Subject: Vega**

  
Steven,

I had better luck with Vega. Pulled him off of Omega just before he got himself too banged up in a brawl with some batarians. He was defending Shepard’s honor, apparently. I’ve got him playing guard for the time being. We’ll arrive in Vancouver in the morning around 0900 UTC (I know that’s 0200 at HQ, but a night arrival might actually help us keep the press away).

Oh, I’ve also got Moreau and Chakwas here, along with several other former Alliance personnel who defected to Cerberus to work with Shepard. I’ll send you a roster so you can start figuring out how the hell we’re going to start cleaning this all up.

David

  
*****


	3. Surrender (Shepard)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard turns herself over to the Alliance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate title: "Surrender: Or, the chapter where people nod silently a lot." Ha ha! Anyway, enjoy!

Though it was only a couple hours past midnight on the ground in Vancouver, it was already a few hours into the Normandy’s morning cycle when Lieutenant Commander Jane Shepard leaned against her sink and gazed at her reflection. She appraised herself in the mirror one more time before leaving her captain’s quarters for what would likely be the _last_ time. The past ten days had been absolute hell—jumping the Omega 4 Relay, destroying the Collector Base, undertaking Hackett’s goddamn fubar secret mission, ditching Cerberus and the Illusive Man, and making last-minute preparations for her surrender to the Alliance—and it definitely showed in her haggard appearance.

The various minor injuries she had suffered during her travails in Bahak were still healing, and in her reflection she could see several scrapes and a few lingering bruises on her face. Over the past week and a half, she had barely slept for more than a few hours at a time—not counting the nearly two days when Kenson had drugged her, of course. Dark circles had begun to form beneath her eyes, and her cheeks appeared slightly gaunt. She thought that her emerald green eyes, which were normally vibrant, held a haunted look. Her dark red hair hung a bit limply down to her shoulders, but other than its slightly longer length, it was perhaps one of the only things about her that she thought looked about the same as it always did.

Jane ran her hand through her hair, tousling it a bit in an attempt to make herself look a little more presentable. She stood up straight, tugging on the hem of her shirt, straightening it the best she could. It had been fairly rumpled since she'd found it shoved in the bottom of one of her drawers. Anderson had directed her not to wear anything with a Cerberus logo on it and, well, that didn't leave her much seeing as essentially everything she owned—including her very skin—had been given to her by the Illusive Man. There could be a Cerberus logo _inside_ of her body for all that she knew, maybe on one of the Lazarus Project cybernetic implants. She shuddered at the thought of being branded by Cerberus in such a permanent way. It made her want to claw off her own skin.

But, per Anderson’s request, there was at least nothing of Cerberus obviously visible on her person. Luckily, she had found a plain gray, long-sleeved shirt she could wear, and paired with dark fatigues and boots, she looked fairly nondescript. Her red hair would pretty much be a dead giveaway as to who she was to anyone looking, but there wasn’t much she could do about that short of cutting it all off, which she wasn’t inclined to do.

“Commander, Admiral Hackett has boarded. He and Admiral Anderson are speaking in the CIC. They are talking about summoning you,” came EDI’s voice, breaking the silence of her cabin.

“Thank you for the warning, EDI,” Jane replied quietly. She wanted to say more to the AI but wasn’t exactly sure what she could say in this moment. She didn’t know what was going to happen when the Alliance inevitably figured out what EDI was. After they’d been caught conversing by that lieutenant last night, Jane had decided that she needed to keep her conversations with EDI to a minimum from then on out. It had made her last hours on the Normandy very lonely. “EDI, um… thank you. For everything.”

“You’re most welcome, Commander.”

Jane exited her bathroom and walked over to the duffel bag sitting on her otherwise empty desk. She had packed the few other non-Cerberus clothing items she had, including a pair of sweats, sleepwear, and undergarments, as well as some toiletries. She didn’t have much she wanted to bring with her, and her other more personal items had been packed up in her footlocker and handed over last night. This was all she had left. A half-empty duffel bag.

Just as she lifted the bag and placed the straps over one shoulder, a gentle knock came at her door.

“Uh, Commander Shepard? Admiral Anderson is requesting that you meet him down in the CIC,” a voice called, loud enough to be heard through the closed door. There was a pause. “I’m supposed to escort you now, Commander.” She recognized the voice. It was that Lieutenant Vega who’d been assigned to guard her overnight.

Jane wasn’t sure if Vega was sugar-coating Anderson’s words or not, but being ‘requested’ to ‘meet’ someone was about the politest way you could be asked to show up to your own arrest. The kind language didn’t lessen the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, however.

Unable to put off the inevitable any longer, Jane sighed, then opened the door to her captain’s quarters.

“I asked you not to call me that, Lieutenant,” she said immediately, stepping out of her cabin for the last time. Jane tried not to let her apprehension show, standing tall and using a stern tone with the younger man.

“Sorry, ma’am,” he replied quickly.

Vega had stepped back and was standing respectfully opposite her door, giving her plenty of room to pass by him. The elevator had already been summoned, and the door stood open, waiting for them to enter. The lieutenant seemed to appraise her quickly, his eyes running over her, though she couldn’t be sure what he was looking for exactly. Instead of glaring at him or snapping at him, however—which she absolutely felt inclined to do—she forced herself to ignore his examining gaze and headed directly to the lift. She was too exhausted to pick a fight right now with a man who was just doing what his superiors ordered him to do. She knew _plenty_ about what that was like.

He followed her into the lift, choosing to let the silence continue. Jane crossed her arms and leaned against the side wall, watching Vega warily as he hit the panel to bring them down one level to the CIC.

Just before the door could open again, he glanced at her and asked, “Would you like me to carry that for you, ma’am?” She shot him a look, narrowing her eyes in his direction.

“I think I can manage a duffel bag,” she replied sullenly. Then the door opened, and she strode off the elevator before the lieutenant could even blink at her reply.

After just a few steps she faltered, pausing to look around the CIC. Much to Jane's surprise, it was bustling with activity. There were crew and soldiers she didn’t recognize aboard her ship, which was jarring—until she remembered that the Normandy wasn’t actually _her_ ship anymore. Of course she wouldn’t recognize the crew. Anderson had already brought aboard a few of his own men when he’d met her on Omega, and Hackett must have brought on the rest the moment they’d arrived here in Vancouver. 

She saw Anderson standing with an ensign over by the workstations near the door that led towards the armory. Anderson was speaking with the young woman, likely giving her orders of some kind since she was listening and nodding intently.

Hackett was leaning near the galaxy map, his back to Jane as he rested his forearms on the railing in a casual pose she rarely saw from him. The slump to his shoulders had an almost defeated look to them. It _was_ only like two in the morning in Vancouver, she reminded herself; he was probably just tired. The map was currently deactivated as the ship was docked, but he seemed to be studying the holo of the Normandy that occupied the center area of the CIC.

Jane decided that she should announce her presence before Lieutenant Vega got the chance, so she gathered up her courage and spoke loudly to the room so they both could hear her. “Admiral Hackett, Admiral Anderson,” she said, saluting the admirals as they both turned towards her at the same time. Her heart sank as, notably, neither one returned her salute. After holding the salute for a long moment, she finally let her arm fall and hang loosely at her side. It was all she could do to force herself to remain standing tall, shoulders back, head high in spite of the blow.

“Shepard,” Hackett greeted her, stepping closer and nodding sharply as Anderson walked over to join them. “Cerberus sure knows how to leave its mark on Alliance property,” he added, gesturing vaguely. To anyone watching, Hackett seemed to be indicating the ship, but since this particular ship hadn’t technically ever belonged to the Alliance, Jane realized grimly that he probably meant her. _Yikes_.

“She’s not the original Normandy, but she’s still a good ship,” Jane said, electing to play along for any of the new Alliance crew listening in.

Having lost the first Normandy, the Alliance had likely been drooling at the opportunity to get its hands on the SR-2 once it found out about the ship’s existence. Jane had known she’d have to give the Normandy up when she surrendered herself to the Alliance, but she had tried to avoid thinking too much about the ship being under someone else’s command. It hurt too much. She hoped they would take care of her.

And she wasn’t lying about the Normandy—in spite of her Cerberus origins, she _was_ a good ship. She had carried Jane and her team safely through the Omega 4 relay and she had defeated the Collector Ship that had destroyed the original Normandy. But the Normandy was more than a ship to Jane: it was her home. The SR-2 had given her a sense of freedom and a renewed sense of purpose when she'd found herself at the mercy of Cerberus after they had resurrected her. _Damn_ , Jane was going to miss her.

Admiral Hackett didn’t reply to her comment about the Normandy; he simply looked at her carefully for a long moment. Not for the first time, Jane wished she could see what was going on in that old fox’s head. He seemed to be studying her, though she couldn’t fathom why. They hadn’t seen each other or even communicated since he had met with her on the Normandy four days ago, and she wasn’t entirely sure how things were supposed to go now that she was officially turning herself over to Alliance custody.

“You know why I’m here, Shepard?” Hackett asked finally, crossing his arms over his chest. Jane tried not to wince at the coldness in his tone. He was good. She guessed that Hackett’s demeanor and tone was largely performative, given their audience, but it felt authentic. Some of the crew members working nearby had turned in their direction, obviously trying to overhear their exchange. And Lieutenant Vega was standing just behind her and could certainly hear everything that was being said. Jane had no choice but to continue playing along.

“Yessir,” she replied swiftly, a dutiful subordinate answering her superior officer. “You are here to take the Normandy and myself into Alliance custody, sir.” She paused, then glanced at Anderson before adding under her breath, “And I assume you remember my terms?”

Jane thought back to the long conversation they’d had aboard the Normandy four days ago. Hackett had assured her that he was on her side, that he believed her about the Reapers. But he had also said he wouldn’t be able to shield her from the fallout of Bahak. She would need to be prepared to “face the music,” he’d told her. Well, here she was, taking the hit. But she wanted to be sure that Hackett remembered his promise to protect her team. If Jane was going to throw herself to the wolves, she didn’t want a single member of her team to be dragged down and devoured alongside her.

It had been Joker who’d been the angriest when he found out what she’d done. Though he didn’t sympathize with Cerberus’s cause by any means, he still resented the Alliance for grounding him after the first Normandy had gone down. And he was worried about placing their trust in the Alliance now. But even if Jane didn’t entirely trust the Alliance writ large, she trusted Hackett and Anderson at least, so she’d convinced Joker that surrendering was for the best. Garrus and Tali had been reluctant to “abandon her,” as they’d deemed it, but they also both needed to get back to their own people and warn them about the coming war with the Reapers. The others on her team had been easier to convince. All the former-Alliance crew, except for Jacob, would turn themselves over to the Alliance, with Hackett agreeing to quietly reintegrate them and find them new placements if they wanted them. Everyone else would go their separate ways on Omega, and Hackett had consented to look the other way when names were missing from the Normandy’s crew manifest. For all of that, Jane would surrender herself and the Normandy to the Alliance.

It hadn't even been a question for Jane as to whether it was worth it, trading her own freedom for that of her entire crew’s. It was.

“Of course I do, Shepard,” Hackett replied, drawing her out of her thoughts. To Jane’s surprise, Hackett placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, squeezing it in a reassuring gesture. He then let his hand fall to his side and nodded his head at the lieutenant standing behind her. “Please give your things to Lieutenant Vega. Your bag will be searched and returned to you once you’ve been processed and we figure out where to put you.”

Jane turned and rolled her eyes at Vega when she saw that he was smirking slightly at ending up holding her bag after she’d rejected his offer to carry it a few minutes ago. “Have fun pawing through my personal effects, Lieutenant,” she quipped, trying to play off her embarrassment as she slid the straps of her duffel off her shoulder. Vega shifted awkwardly, a strange look flitting across his face, but he remained silent as he took the bag from her and easily shouldered it.

 _Does he look... guilty? That’s interesting_ , Jane thought. She wondered what the lieutenant’s unexpected reaction could mean.

She turned and spoke matter-of-factly to Hackett. “My armor and equipment are still in my locker in the armory.”

“It will be taken care of,” Hackett replied, looking to Anderson, who nodded.

“Of course,” Anderson said. “I’ll make sure your gear is properly maintained and stored with your other personal effects. Vega brought me your footlocker this morning.”

Jane glanced back at Vega over her shoulder and noticed that he still looked uncomfortable and even appeared to be blushing slightly. _Strange_. Hackett began speaking again, and she turned back to him.

“We’ll go over what’s going to happen next in a moment, but first I’d like to have a private word with Anderson and the lieutenant. Gentlemen, a moment, please,” Hackett said seriously, gesturing and then leading the two men over to one side of the CIC that was being conveniently vacated by the crewmen who had been working there a moment prior. The crewmen may have been wanting to overhear what was going on with Commander Shepard, but they knew well-enough to steer clear when two admirals approached.

While she waited, Jane took several steps forward towards the empty workstation in the center of the CIC where her terminals used to be. Those computers had been confiscated, too, apparently. She sighed and leaned against the unoccupied workspace, angling herself slightly so she could at watch the admirals and Vega speaking quietly together.

Hackett and Anderson had their backs to her, but Jane had a fairly clear view of Lieutenant Vega, and she studied him closely for the first time. She had noticed it before, but here in the presence of the flight crew and a couple of older admirals, Jane thought that he was perhaps the most ludicrously muscular man she had ever seen—and Jane had basically grown up surrounded by Alliance marines since she was a teenager. Jane couldn’t know exactly where he might be from, though she guessed that he wasn’t a colony kid like her. There was just something about him that screamed Earthborn. He hadn’t spoken to her much, but she thought that his accent suggested North America, though beyond that she couldn’t be sure. His skin was a caramel brown and his eyes were a dark color, though not as dark as his nearly black hair, which was buzzed short except for a short mohawk atop his head. As her eyes moved over his tight Alliance-issue t-shirt that seemed to barely contain his ridiculous muscles, she couldn’t help but notice that there was some dried blood on the sleeve. Jane skimmed her gaze upward and saw that he had a fresh cut along his hairline that she hadn’t noticed before, and though they were slightly hidden by his tattoos, there was some bruising on his skin.

She wondered what he had gotten himself into that might have caused these recent injuries and was frowning to herself when he suddenly turned his gaze away from Hackett and Anderson to meet her eyes. Embarrassed that she had been caught staring, Jane glanced away but felt herself flush. Damn, she needed to stop with that before he got the wrong idea. She spent enough of her life around marines that she’d noticed the way he’d looked at her last night after she caught him listening at her door. He definitely seemed the type to perceive a lingering glance or two as interest when it was nothing more than idle curiosity on her part.

Hackett suddenly turned towards her and beckoned her over to join them. She straightened and walked cautiously towards the men, trying to pretend like she still deserved to stand among them. She wasn’t doing a very good job of convincing herself.

Anderson spoke to her first. “Shepard, the last thing we want as we head out there is to make a spectacle of you, but—”

Hackett interrupted him. “But your actions have stirred up a political shitstorm, Shepard. I tried to keep the media away from this, but, well, there was only so much I could do. Portions of the Alliance HQ campus are open to civilians, even in the middle of the night.” He glanced at Anderson before adding, “So there’s media out there. And there are protestors. It’s late, so there aren’t many, but there are some.”

Jane shifted uncomfortably and lowered her gaze to the floor. She had been holding out a secret hope that maybe she could get through this with at least some of her public dignity intact, but if there were media and protestors out there, that was out of the question now. Jane was no stranger to being the center of attention—hell, that Westerlund News reporter al-Jilani somehow tracked her down and ambushed her every time she was on the Citadel—but she still hated it.

“I’m sorry, Shepard. I wish it didn’t have to be this way.” Jane wasn’t quite sure what Anderson was talking about until she raised her head and saw what he was holding in his hand. A pair of handcuffs. Her heart started pounding in her chest.

“Sir?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady. Anderson, to his credit, looked like handcuffing her was the last thing he wanted to do. In fact, he looked absolutely miserable about it.

“You’ll need to be cuffed, at least until we make it inside HQ,” Hackett explained, and Jane brought her gaze up to meet his. “Remember what I said? ‘You’ve done a hell of a thing.’ Now it’s time to own it.”

A hurt look must have crossed Jane’s face, though she said nothing.

“It’s hard, I know,” he said, and Jane thought she detected a tinge of regret in his voice. He placed his hands on both of Jane’s upper arms, causing her to stand up straighter. “‘It is the character of a brave and resolute man not to be ruffled by adversity and not to desert his post,’” he said. She recognized the quote. It felt like an acknowledgement of the sacrifice she was making by turning herself in. Hackett wanted her to know that he was still on her side, even as he ordered her put in handcuffs.

Jane nodded and readied herself as she turned around, putting her hands behind her back. Despite the shame she felt creeping through her, she kept her head high as she stared defiantly at the crewmen and marines who were now openly gawking at her from across the CIC.

“You’re doing the right thing,” Anderson said unhelpfully, sounding as unhappy about this situation as she felt. He had been the only father figure in her life since she was sixteen, and he knew her better than almost anyone else—and she didn’t want to think about ‘anyone else’ right now. She already knew how ‘anyone else’ felt about her these days, especially since he had never replied to the email she’d sent him ten days ago, just before the Omega 4 Relay.

“I’ll do it, Anderson,” Admiral Hackett said roughly from behind her. “Shepard, you can turn back around,” he said, and when she did, she could see that he was holding his hand out for Anderson to give him the cuffs. Anderson hesitated for only a moment, then held out the handcuffs to Hackett, who took them. Hackett took her hands and moved them in front of her. He gently closed one cuff around her left wrist, tightening it just until she could hear the click of the cuff locking into place; then he did the same to her right wrist. Jane stared stoically over Hackett’s shoulder, eyes fixed on a random console along the wall, doing her best to hide the flush of growing shame she felt on her cheeks as each cuff locked around her wrists. _Fuck_ , this was harder than she could have ever imagined.

“I’ll take good care of the Normandy for you,” Anderson said in an attempt at offering consolation, patting her on the shoulder before taking a step back. Jane wanted to scoff at his words; she knew she wouldn’t ever be getting the Normandy back. There was no point trying to convince herself otherwise. She didn’t reply but merely nodded to show she had heard him. “I’ll be seeing you soon, Shepard,” he added.

“Ready?” Hackett asked her, raising an eyebrow. _Hell, of course I’m not ready_ , Jane thought. How could she ever prepare herself for something like this? Jane had joined the Alliance over 13 years ago. She had given her life to the Alliance and quite literally given her life _for_ the Alliance. Never in a million years would she have imagined herself in the position she was in today. And yet, she knew it didn’t really matter whether or not she felt ready—she needed to be ready because it was what was expected of her. Diplomatic relations with the batarians required that the Alliance hold her to account for the destruction of the Alpha Relay and the Bahak System. Being ready for this was the service Hackett needed from her today. So she would at least pretend to be ready. She nodded.

And so Admiral Hackett, Lieutenant Vega, and Jane began to head towards the open airlock door near the Normandy’s cockpit. Before they came into view of the crowd she could hear gathered outside, Admiral Hackett turned to Lieutenant Vega. “Lieutenant, I don’t think Shepard is going to give us any trouble. She will follow behind me, and you will follow behind her. We will walk straight through the crowd to the hangar and then across the quad to my office at Headquarters—”

“But, sir,” Vega interrupted Hackett—a brave move, Jane thought. His eyebrows were raised in clear question as he spoke, and Jane surmised that this was a change in protocol from what the lieutenant had been briefed to expect. “I was contacted by Major Antella this morning. He ordered me to escort the commander to DINA once she was in-processed.”

 _Oh great_ , Jane thought. Straight to the Department of Internal Naval Affairs. That couldn’t be good.

Hackett glared at Vega. “I am countermanding Major Antella’s orders,” Hackett replied authoritatively. “Shepard will follow behind me, and you will follow several paces behind her. We will head straight to my office and nowhere else. Do not escort her. Do not touch her. Right now, your primary job is to carry her bag. Is that understood, Lieutenant?”

“Yessir,” Lieutenant Vega answered quickly, saluting the admiral. Jane couldn’t help the tiny smile that quirked at the edge of her lips. Hackett might be getting old, but he was one tough son of a bitch, and it gave her great pleasure to see her put the lieutenant in his place so easily.

“Good. Now let’s move,” Hackett said to Jane, turning and striding confidently onto the gangway that would lead them down towards the hangar below.

The long walk from the Normandy passed in a blur. Jane stared straight ahead as they walked down a narrow cordoned off aisle between two small crowds of reporters and protesters who had shown up to witness and document the disgrace of Commander Shepard, Hero of Elysium and Savior of the Citadel. They shouted questions and insults at her, and she did her best to ignore them both. Jane tried letting the cacophony fade into the background of her thoughts, but still certain words made it through, piercing her consciousness: treason, warmonger, terrorist, mass murderer. Her shame increased with each word she heard because she realized she had at least partially earned each one of them.

At one point, Jane was nearly tumbled off her feet when a protestor managed to shove his way through the row of marines that had been stationed several meters apart to keep the crowd in check. The man ducked the rope, slipped between the two soldiers on either side of him, and lunged for her, shouting obscenities and other words she couldn’t make out in her face. He knocked roughly into her shoulder as he reached for her, and she lurched to the side; her hands were bound in front of her and she couldn’t throw her arms out to try and maintain her balance. Before she could fall, however, she felt a strong hand grip her upper arm, steadying her as two marines grabbed hold of the protestor and dragged him back behind the cordon.

“I’ve got you, Shepard,” came Lieutenant Vega’s voice in her ear. Jane’s heart was racing in her chest, and she was surprised at how vulnerable she felt in this moment. She could handle herself in a fight and wasn’t used to feeling utterly powerless. And she wasn’t used to being the target of so much vitriol and anger—and all of it based on partial truths, only no one could ever know it.

Vega loosened his grip but kept his hand on her arm, escorting her safely through the rest of the riotous crowd. Admiral Hackett had glanced back at the commotion, and though Jane could see his lips tighten into a thin line when he saw the lieutenant’s hand on her upper arm, she shook her head, letting him know that he didn’t need to intercede. Her pride didn’t want to make any more of a scene than they already had.

The three of them finally made their way through the crowd and into the hangar. The sounds of the clamorous crowd faded as they proceeded out the back and into the quad beyond. Hackett paused then, turning around and glaring at Lieutenant Vega, who faltered for a moment under the intense scrutiny, before realizing that he was meant to let go of Jane’s arm. He did, releasing her as suddenly as if he had been scalded. Jane rolled her shoulder experimentally, but she seemed no worse for the wear—physically, anyway.

“Come on. I would like to get inside as quickly as possible,” Hackett said, leading the way across the quad to the large building ahead bearing the words ‘Alliance Headquarters’ in large metallic lettering. Jane had been inside a dozen times before, but never quite like this.

Lieutenant Vega walked beside her instead of behind her now, and the pair followed behind Admiral Hackett. Jane glanced to her right, shooting Vega a look before saying, “That’s quite a grip you’ve got there, Lieutenant.”

She could see his lips quirk up in a small smile, and then he turned his head to look at her as well. “Are you flirting with me, Shepard?” he asked.

Jane nearly stopped in her tracks and her eyes widened in surprise. “What? No, I—of _course_ not—” she spluttered before noting the teasing glint in Vega’s eye. He was making fun of her? After all _that_?

“Go to hell, Lieutenant,” she muttered darkly, quickening her pace to catch up to Admiral Hackett. She chanced a quick glance at Lieutenant Vega but immediately regretted looking back, as Vega was still standing where she had left him, a large grin plastered across his stupid face.

Jane rolled her eyes, then fell into step beside Admiral Hackett. Silence hung between them for a long moment before Hackett finally spoke. “He’s just trying to rile you up, you know,” he said.

“What the hell for?” she said angrily. She could hear Lieutenant Vega’s footsteps fall into place several meters behind her and Hackett.

“Honestly? I think he’s either star-struck or just plain intimidated by you,” Hackett replied. Jane turned to look at him as they walked, one eyebrow raised questioningly. Hackett glanced over at her, then shrugged. “Think about it. You are _the_ Commander Jane Shepard. You’ve been a legend in the Alliance since the Skyllian Blitz. You became the Hero of Elysium and received the Star of Terra at a younger age than our Lieutenant here is now. You're an N7. You are the first human Spectre. You are the Savior of the Citadel. Then you died, but here you are, resurrected—the first human ever to be resurrected, I might add. Well, maybe the second,” he said nonchalantly.

Jane snorted derisively. “You didn’t just compare me to Jesus fucking Christ.”

“You said it, not me,” Hackett replied, chuckling. Then his tone turned more serious. “The truth of your whereabouts and actions over the past couple of years is known to very few. Mostly there’s just speculation and wild rumors about where you’ve been and whether you were really killed two-and-a-half years ago.”

Jane opened her mouth to defend herself, but Hackett held up a hand. “ _I_ know the truth, Shepard. Dr. T’Soni and I have been in fairly regular communication since not long after the Normandy went down.”

There was a long pause, then Jane said, “I know, sir. And thank you for returning my dog tags to me. Liara told me you gave them to her.”

Now it was Hackett’s turn to stop walking. He glanced around for a moment, and when he saw that they were relatively alone, he looked at her, a genuine smile on his face. He reached out and took her bound hands, clasping them gently with his own. “You are very welcome, my dear,” he said. “I know how important they were to you.” Jane just nodded in silent thanks. Jane glanced back at Vega who was pointedly looking in a different direction and doing a very good job of pretending he wasn’t eavesdropping on this entire conversation.

“Anyway,” Hackett continued, beginning to walk again and beckoning her to stay beside him. “Marines like Lieutenant Vega here have been looking up to you for years. He’s young enough that you were probably on Alliance recruitment posters before he joined up—you might even be part of the reason he joined up.”

“I still don’t see why—” Jane began, but Hackett raised his hand to cut her off. They were growing close to their destination, and it seemed he wanted to finish his point before they entered the scrutiny of whatever awaited them inside Headquarters. He held up a hand to Vega instructing him to wait, then grasped Jane’s elbow gently and led her several steps away from the Lieutenant, who now stood just out of earshot.

“I don’t want to get into all of the details now, but Anderson personally selected Lieutenant Vega here to be your guardian while you’re in Alliance custody.” Jane’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“My... guardian? I need a guardian?” When Hackett didn't immediately reply, she looked curiously at the lieutenant then asked, “Why him?” Vega was scanning the quad, glancing around warily, likely keeping an eye out for any possible disturbances.

“All you need to know right now is that we have our reasons,” Hackett replied. Jane narrowed her eyes at him in an expression that she hoped conveyed that she wasn’t ready to let this go. “Look,” Hackett relented, rubbing tiredly at the back of his neck. “The lieutenant needed a new post, and you needed a guardian while in Alliance custody. The stars aligned. Vega is a good marine, and he’ll treat you fairly. You know there are many who are out for your blood right now.”

“Yeah, I got a sense of that back there,” she said sarcastically.

“Right, and that’s not even the half of it. So let’s just leave things at that for now,” Hackett said, a tone of finality in his voice. “First, we need to get inside and get you processed—”

“What exactly is going to happen when I get in there?” Jane asked, indicating the Headquarters building with her chin. The thought had been eating away at her ever since they’d arrived, and her stomach was unsettled at the uncertainty of what lay before her.

Hackett sighed, also looking tired at the prospect of what lay ahead. “Today will just be Alliance in-processing protocols: a medical exam, a psych eval, an inventory of your personal effects. While you do that, I will be finalizing preparations for your detention.” Hackett must have recognized that Jane looked worried about being separated from him so soon after arriving, because he added, “Lieutenant Vega is to be assigned to you for the duration. He won't leave your side except while you're with the medical and psych teams. And I’ll be a call away at all times.”

Jane nodded, her worries only slightly assuaged, but Hackett continued. “Sometime soon, you will be called to give an official accounting of your whereabouts and activities over the past two-and-a-half years. It seems that Major Antella wants to interrogate you today, but I will pull rank to have your DINA interrogation moved so that you and I have some time to meet discreetly and figure out what you can safely say to them.”

Jane half-listened as Hackett continued to lay out the intense scrutiny she was going to undergo over the next few days and weeks. This wasn’t going to be a pleasant experience, she thought wearily, glancing back at what she could still see of the Normandy one last time. She already missed the freedom she had as the Normandy’s commander; her actions weren’t going to be her own for the foreseeable future. That was going to be a difficult prospect given that until now she’d literally had the entire galaxy at her fingertips.

“Alright. Let’s just get this over with,” she finally said, and Hackett gestured for Lieutenant Vega to rejoin them. Jane pushed down everything she was feeling and adopted a stoic expression. She could process her feelings later. For now, Hackett needed her to surrender to the Alliance, so surrender she would. She just might end up losing everything that was important to her in the process.

  
*****

 **  
From: Maj. Caleb Antella <caleb.antella@sysalliance.nav.mil>  
** **To: Adm. Steven Hackett <steven.hackett@sysalliance.nav.mil>  
** **Sent: 25 MAR 2186 at 0312:46 PST (25 MAR 2186 at 1012:46 UTC)  
** **Subject: Commander Shepard's Return**

Sir,

It is my understanding that you officially brought Commander Shepard into Alliance custody early this morning. Congratulations on making such a high profile arrest. When can I expect that the commander will be brought to DINA for processing and interrogation with my department?

Respectfully awaiting your reply,

Major Antella  
Department of Internal Naval Affairs

  
*****

 **  
From: Adm. Steven Hackett <steven.hackett@sysalliance.nav.mil>  
** **To: Maj. Caleb Antella <caleb.antella@sysalliance.nav.mil>  
** **Sent: 25 MAR 2186 at 0318:12 PST (25 MAR 2186 at 1018:12 UTC)  
** **Subject: RE: Commander Shepard’s Return**

  
Antella,

I am aware that you circumvented my authority and attempted to have Lieutenant Vega deliver Commander Shepard directly into your custody. He is operating under my authority, so I suggest you desist in giving him any further commands. He has been instructed not to follow them.

I will personally be overseeing Shepard’s in-processing and the details of her detention. If DINA would like to speak with her, you may contact my office to set something up.

Admiral Hackett

  
*****

  
 **From: Adm. Steven Hackett <steven.hackett@sysalliance.nav.mil>  
** **To: Adm. David Anderson <david.anderson@sysalliance.nav.mil>  
** **Sent: 25 MAR 2186 at 0332:55 PST (25 MAR 2186 at 1032:55 UTC)  
Subject: Interrogations**

  
David,

Antella is already chomping at the bit to get his hands on Shepard. I can keep DINA at bay for a little while, but perhaps we can throw him a couple of bones in the meantime. Once you get Moreau and Dr. Chakwas settled, set up their interrogations with his office. Chakwas first—she can handle it. Try to sit in on those if you can and report back to me.

Steven


	4. Truth (Alenko)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaidan reports to his new temporary assignment and reflects while watching the news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays! Writing fiction has been a new thing for me this year, something I started trying a few months into the pandemic. The idea that even a single person has read any of this still blows my mind. And the fact that any of you have left kudos and comments? I’m just eternally grateful. It gives me the confidence to keep practicing and sharing. Thank you!

“Well, we’re really excited we get to borrow you for a few days, Major Alenko,” said the woman currently escorting Kaidan down a long narrow corridor. Kahlee Sanders had met him at his shuttle and had been chatting amicably with him the entire walk from the shuttle bay to the residential wing of the station.

“I’m happy to be of service, Lieutenant Sanders.”

“Please, this isn’t an official Alliance facility so it’s just Ms. Sanders here. Or Kahlee.”

“Alright, Ms. Sanders,” Kaidan replied, a little awkwardly. Perhaps she wasn’t here in an official Alliance capacity, but he was. He felt more comfortable with the formality.

“You know, I think the Ascension Project will really benefit from the expertise of someone with your unique background,” Sanders added as an aside. Kaidan tried not to wince, knowing that she must have seen his military dossier and read what was on file about his experiences at BAaT. He knew that the Ascension Project wasn't Brain Camp 2.0, and he was glad these kids had a more supportive environment to get the biotic training they needed. But he wasn't sure he wanted to relive his whole BAaT experience just now with this woman he'd just met.

“I’m really only here to consult on the new instructor Grissom is considering hiring for the Project,” Kaidan said.

“Oh, of course, Major. I’ve got the files you need right here,” she handed him a datapad she had been carrying, “but we’ll wait until the morning to get started, alright? I know you’ve traveled a ways to be here. Please make yourself comfortable and don’t hesitate to contact me if you need anything. Have a good evening!” She certainly sounded much more cheerful than Kaidan felt.

“Right. The morning then. Good night, Ms. Sanders.” He gave Kahlee Sanders a brief wave as she departed down the hallway back in the direction they’d come. She’d left him standing in front of a door with a keypad next to it, so he entered the code he’d been given and waited for a moment. After a pause, the panel flashed green and the door slid open to let him inside the suite.

The temporary quarters he’d been issued were small, but that didn’t bother Kaidan any. Having his own bed and bathroom any time he was off-planet was practically a dream come true. He’d spent far too much time in sleeping pods or assigned a bunk in crowded crew quarters aboard various Alliance vessels and stations to be critical of any private personal quarters allotted to him, no matter what the size.

Dropping his duffel bag on the floor next to the door, Kaidan walked over to the small sofa and flopped unceremoniously onto it. The datapad in his hand clattered on the coffee table in front of him as he set it down a bit carelessly. He would look at it later. The past couple of days had been emotionally draining. For now, he was exhausted and simply looking forward to having a few hours alone to get his thoughts in order so he could focus on this new assignment.

He pulled up his omni-tool and connected it to the room’s network. On the control panel that appeared on his omni-tool’s display, he directed the television to tune in to the news. A large screen mounted on the wall across from the couch flickered to life and began airing the evening news, which was already in progress. Kaidan leaned back and let his eyes drift shut as he half-listened to the voice that began droning from the screen, temporarily giving himself over to his weary exhaustion.

  
“— _are continuing retrieval of the wreckage of the MSV Estevanico, the crash site of which was discovered not long ago on Zanethu in the Ploitari System. Dr. Richard Talos of the Alliance Museum of Galactic Exploration says he is planning to curate an upcoming exhibit detailing the—_ ”

  
The reporter’s calm voice faded to the background of his awareness as his thoughts drifted back over the events of the past couple of days. He’d been feeling especially troubled ever since his meeting with Hackett two days ago, and the thirty-six hours of leave he’d gotten to spend with his parents only mildly helped to put his mind at ease. He couldn’t share the specifics of the meeting with his parents, of course, but they’d known something was off the moment he’d arrived on their doorstep. 

His mom, with her keen eyes and mother’s intuition, could _always_ tell when something was wrong with her son. She also knew him well enough not to push, but her concern made itself known in other ways. The hot mug of his favorite tea that was in his hands not five minutes after he’d arrived. Her comforting arm around his shoulders as she walked him to his old bedroom. The way she’d shooed away his father to give him some space and let him get settled. His mom usually knew what he needed even when he himself didn’t.

He’d sat at his old desk for a good half hour reading through Alliance emails and reports before the scent of his mother’s cooking began to waft through the bedroom. He recognized the dish immediately: rouladen. It was one of his favorite meals that his mother made, and she always served it with generous helpings of roasted vegetables and homemade bread. A bit of home cooking was exactly what he’d needed. And, of course, his mother had known.

Then, after dinner, he and his father had gone out onto the balcony with a couple of beers and talked. They talked as if they hadn’t just seen each other for Kaidan’s promotion ceremony two months prior. And though he wouldn’t have been able to explain why, Kaidan remembered thinking as he looked at his father that he wanted to etch in his memory exactly the way his father looked that night: beer in hand, fleece collar turned up against the chill, dark hair threaded through with gray, and a similarly graying beard covering an angular jaw that resembled Kaidan’s own. 

Looking at his father that night had been like looking into a mirror and seeing an older version of himself—except that given the path he’d chosen and the things he’d experienced the past few years, Kaidan sometimes wondered if he’d ever live to see that version of himself.

Being home this time had just felt so… right. And he wanted to preserve the memory of it in case… well, in case it was a while before he’d have another chance to feel at home somewhere again.

Because his parents’ house, with his mother’s home cooking and his father’s long talks, _that_ was home. It was familiar. Even with all the bad memories, the stress and anxiety he had growing up as a scared biotic kid—he knew what to expect at home. From his mom. And usually from his dad, when he'd been around, anyway. But out there in the rest of the world? The rest of the galaxy? That’s where things didn’t make sense.

Jane didn’t make sense.

  
“ _—reports that the Omega 4 Relay was used recently are still stirring up controversy and concern around the galaxy. In spite of these reports, Alliance officials maintain that—_ ”

  
Kaidan’s ears perked up at that. God, Shepard really was everywhere, wasn’t she. The news report didn’t mention her by name, but he knew it must have been Jane and her Cerberus team who’d jumped the relay when they’d gone after the Collector’s Base. She had insinuated as much in the email she’d sent him just before she did it. The email he’d never replied to and now probably never would.

She’d sent it right before they’d made the jump, and it was clear to him that she’d had doubts about whether they would succeed in their mission, let alone survive it. He recalled how he'd gone cold as he read the phrase "one way trip." The email had been sitting in his inbox for several hours by the time he’d gotten around to reading it, which meant that if Jane's mission had failed, he might have been reading the words of a dead woman. And what the fuck was he supposed to do with that? He still wasn’t sure how he felt about the whole thing—whether it meant something to know that she’d been thinking of him in what might have been her final hours or whether he hated her for sending him that email and making him process the possibility of having lost her all over again. It was all just… too much.

Because _fuck_ —the truth of the matter was that deep down... he still loved her.

And there it was.

Hackett hadn’t come right out and asked him about it the other day, but it’s what he’d been getting at, wasn’t it? He wasn’t sure how the admiral had figured it out, but he’d known the truth, somehow, about what Kaidan and Jane meant to each other— _had_ meant to each other, once upon a time. He wasn’t sure what they meant to each other now. But with all his questions about loyalty and choosing between Jane and the Alliance—Hackett knew. And what the hell was Kaidan supposed to say? Jane had obviously made her choice, hadn’t she? So Kaidan had made his. Though he honestly didn’t feel like he’d ever really been given a choice. He felt like Jane, the circumstances, the universe— _whatever_ —had made all his choices for him.

But in spite of all that, he still loved her.

And if he could ever admit it to himself, he had never really stopped.

It’s what had made Hackett’s other news so difficult for him to process. The idea that Jane had somehow been behind what happened at Bahak—he just still couldn’t quite believe it. He’d told Hackett that he didn’t know if Jane had ever shown herself to be capable of doing something like that out of revenge, but that was a lie. The Jane he knew wasn’t even remotely capable of such a thing. So either there was more going on here... or this wasn’t the Jane he knew. And he didn’t know which it was.

Kaidan groaned and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and cradling his head in his hands. God, everything was just such a fucking mess.

  
“ _—and now back to our biggest story of the day. Commander Shepard, formerly of the Alliance Systems Navy, arrived in Vancouver early this morning and was seen being escorted across the Alliance Headquarters campus as she was taken into Alliance custody. It is unclear at this time exactly where or how she was apprehended—_ ”

  
Kaidan’s eyes flew open as he jerked his head up and leaned intently towards the vidscreen. There it was, unmistakable—the Normandy. He still didn’t understand how it could be there, but there it was. It wasn’t _exactly_ the same as he remembered, though; he could tell it was a different ship. It was bigger. And it had a Cerberus logo on it. And this one wasn’t lying in pieces on an ice planet. But it was unmistakably the Normandy.

And if they were showing the Normandy, then…

He only had to wait a moment before the camera zoomed in on the gangway leading down from the Normandy’s airlock. And then, there she was.

Kaidan watched, transfixed as Jane appeared, following behind Admiral Hackett and being tailed by a bulky marine Kaidan didn’t recognize. But he didn’t have eyes for either of the men escorting her; he only had eyes for her.

From what he could see of her in the news footage, she looked much as she had when they’d argued on Horizon. He was even struck by the same thought he’d had that day—it had been two and a half years since they’d been together, but other than perhaps looking more tired than he’d ever seen her, she didn’t look like she’d aged a day. Kaidan sighed. Shit, he felt like he’d aged ten years in that time.

Even though he couldn’t see her very clearly as she passed through the gathered crowd, he could tell that they had Jane in handcuffs—the way she was holding her arms, with her hands positioned close together at waist height and her shoulders in a slightly awkward hunch, told him as much. Hackett had _cuffed_ her. He felt a flash of annoyance at that. Jane wasn’t a common criminal, so why was Hackett treating her like one?

Kaidan almost huffed out a laugh in response his own question: Jane Shepard wasn’t a common _anything_ , and Hackett certainly knew that better than almost anyone. Likely Hackett was just keeping up appearances for the media. This whole parading of a handcuffed Commander Shepard in front of a crowd of press and protesters did seem rather staged, now that Kaidan thought about it. They could have docked the Normandy at a secondary location and then brought her in via shuttle without any fuss. He would have to trust that Hackett knew what he was doing—he had promised Kaidan that he’d look out for Jane, after all, and Kaidan only knew the admiral to be an honorable man.

Suddenly, on screen, a protester was shoving his way through the crowd and lunging for Jane. Kaidan realized what was about to happen a split second before it did—though there was nothing he could do about it and of course this footage was hours old by now anyway. Still, he had to clamp down on the subconscious, instinctual reaction of his biotics, feeling the crackle of dark energy threatening beneath his skin. Kaidan watched helplessly as Jane pitched to one side, and the marine who had been following her quickly stepped forward and steadied her.

 _If that marine was doing his job properly, that potential threat never would have gotten as close to Jane as it did_ , Kaidan thought darkly. Feeling even more on edge now that he had before, Kaidan watched closely as they made their way through the rest of the crowd without further incident. Then, the trio disappeared out of view into the back of the hangar.

Kaidan realized then that his fingers had been digging into his knees, and he loosened his grip, forcing himself to relax a little. Well, at least he knew for sure now that Hackett hadn’t been lying to him—Jane really had turned herself over to the Alliance. But were they arresting her for Bahak? Or was it for working with Cerberus? Both?

He had stopped listening to the news report the moment he’d seen Jane, but he paused his racing thoughts for a moment to pay attention to what the reporter was saying while they displayed a several-year-old photo of Jane posing in her Alliance blues next to then-Captain Anderson. Kaidan recognized it as a photo taken shortly after they'd stopped Saren.

  
“— _has not yet issued a formal statement regarding the arrest of the miraculously alive and now-disgraced Hero of the Citadel. An inside source speaking under the condition of anonymity has revealed that Commander Shepard faces possible charges of desertion, espionage, mass murder, and treason._ ”

  
He swallowed hard as the reporter’s words hit home. Desertion and espionage—those charges were bad enough. But mass murder? Treason? How the hell was Jane going to make it through this?

Finally, Kaidan had had enough. He turned off the vidscreen and leaned back again, just sitting silently in the relative darkness of the room for a few minutes, processing his thoughts. Unfortunately, no clarity was forthcoming. Only hard truths, questions, concerns, and worry.

Eventually his mind turned towards his new assignment and the reason he was here at Grissom Academy. He was almost relieved to have something else to focus on for the next couple of days—anything other than Jane.

He leaned forward and scooped up the datapad Kahlee Sanders had given him, activating the screen and flicking through the files she had loaded onto it. The largest one was a fairly lengthy dossier on the advanced biotics instructor Grissom was considering hiring. That was why Kaidan was here—as one of the Alliance’s highest-ranking biotics and now-head of a biotics Spec Ops unit, Kaidan was on loan to Grissom for a few days to help evaluate the potential candidate.

Apparently there were some concerns about her background and temperament, and he had been brought in to evaluate her skills and make a recommendation as to her suitability as an instructor. While Grissom largely operated independently of Alliance military oversight, many of the biotic students they trained did end up serving, so Alliance input was sometimes sought when hiring new instructors or adopting new training programs.

Kaidan looked at the name on the top of the dossier, then frowned slightly. He’d never heard of the woman, which was a little surprising if she was as good a biotic as Sanders had led him to believe. But that was fine—he’d learn everything he needed to know about her from this file. It was perfect, in fact, because right now he wanted to think about anything, anyone other than Jane. He just wanted to spend the rest of his evening reading this dossier and digging into an assignment that had nothing to do with her. An assignment where he didn’t have to deal with where Jane had been, who she’d been with, or what she’d been doing for the past few months.

Kaidan glanced back down at the name on the top of the file and began to read.

 **  
Candidate Name:** Jacqueline Nought (suspected alias)  
**Preferred Nickname:** Jack

  
*****

 **  
From: Kahlee Sanders <kahlee.sanders@grissomacad.edu>  
** **To: Adm. David Anderson <david.anderson@sysalliance.nav.mil>  
** **Sent: 25 MAR 2186 at 1913:40 UTC (25 MAR 2186 at 1213:40 PST)  
** **Subject: Thank you**

  
David,

I just wanted to thank you again for passing along the dossier and files on that biotics instructor candidate. I know you don’t want to say how you discovered her, but I think you’re right that she has the potential to be a real asset to the Ascension Project and the students here. Major Alenko arrived this evening and is prepared to help us evaluate her skills, temperament, and suitability as a potential instructor. We’ve reached out to her and hopefully she’ll agree to meet with us.

I don’t know how you managed to arrange all of this so quickly, but thank you.

I hope you’re well.

Kahlee

  
*****

 **  
From: Adm. David Anderson <david.anderson@sysalliance.nav.mil>  
** **To: Adm. Steven Hackett <steven.hackett@sysalliance.nav.mil>  
** **Sent: 25 MAR 2186 at 1602:45 PST (25 MAR 2186 at 2302:45 UTC)  
** **Subject: Re: Interrogations**

  
Steven,

After several back-and-forths with DINA, I’ve arranged for Dr. Chakwas to be interviewed in three days time and Moreau to be interviewed two days after that. Antella’s office says they need a couple of days to review Shepard’s medical files before talking with Chakwas and they’re requesting access to perform an inspection of the Normandy before speaking with Moreau. I don’t see any way around it.

Assuming you’re fine with this, I’ll make all the necessary arrangements as well as make sure they allow me to observe both of the interviews. In the meantime, I’ll begin reaching out to R&D about getting an engineering team in to take a look at the Normandy and begin drawing up proposals for the ship’s retrofit.

How’d everything go with getting Shepard settled? I’ve seen the news vids from this morning—we’ve got a hell of a mess on our hands. Keep me posted.

David

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revision note: Made a couple minor tweaks in previous chapters to tighten up the timeline a bit where there was a little discrepancy (or at least a hint of a discrepancy).


	5. Homecoming (Vakarian)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrus goes home for the first time in years and speaks with his father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters so close together only happened because I’m on winter break. The next one is already partially drafted, but it will probably be a few weeks before it’s ready to post. But for now, here’s Garrus! Enjoy!

It had been nearly four years since Garrus had last been on Palaven.

Waking up this morning in his old bed, the one he’d slept in as a fledgling, was bizarre and comfortably familiar all at the same time. It reminded him a bit of how he’d felt all those months ago waking up in the medbay of the Normandy, a ship he knew to be destroyed, after Shepard, a woman he knew to be dead, had pulled him off of Omega. It had seemed impossible that he was there, yet there he’d been. 

Garrus was an experienced detective, a cool-headed sniper, and a hardened vigilante; he was used to having full control over his emotions. He didn’t like feeling unsettled. 

And being back on Palaven in his father’s house without a clear plan as to what happened next unsettled him.

Garrus took a few minutes to dress and check his messages for anything urgent, then headed downstairs for something to eat. He was going to need his strength today if he was going to face his father.

When he’d arrived yesterday evening, it had been Sol who had opened the door for him. Their father had been out, and while she’d groused a bit about him showing up on their doorstep unannounced after all this time, the lilt of her subvocals had revealed how relieved she was to see him. He’d tentatively reached for her, a little unsure of how she’d respond, but thank the spirits she’d returned his embrace instead of pushing him away. At least there would be one turian on Palaven who was happy he was home.

Coming to the bottom of the stairs, Garrus turned the corner and passed through the doorway to the kitchen. The sight of a figure sitting alone at the table had him stopping suddenly in his tracks. His father.

Unlike Sol, he guessed that Castis would not be happy that Garrus had come home unannounced.

Garrus forced himself forward into the kitchen, hoping his father hadn’t seen how much his presence had startled him. The fact that Castis hadn’t so much as twitched a mandible at Garrus’s sudden appearance meant he already knew Garrus was here. Perhaps Sol had told him. Or perhaps he'd just figured it out. His father was a retired C-Sec detective, after all.

As he began moving about the kitchen putting together something for breakfast, Garrus had to admit to himself that one thing he hadn’t realized he’d miss about the SR-2 was having Gardner around to prepare meals. The man was a better handyman than a cook, but he’d added dextro-foods to his repertoire after Garrus had joined the crew, and Garrus had gotten used to not having to prepare his own food over the past few months. Though, to be sure, it was nice being in a kitchen full of dextro-only food for the first time in a long while. It made things a little easier, anyway.

Every so often while he worked, Garrus would glance at his father out of the corner of his eye. Castis had apparently decided to ignore Garrus for now and was calmly reading from a datapad while sipping on something hot. Even if he couldn’t have seen the tiny tendrils of steam rising from his father’s mug, his visor would have told him that the beverage had been heated to the point of near-scalding. His visor also told him his father’s heart rate was steady and calm. Apparently Castis wasn’t getting as worked up about their impending head-to-head as Garrus was.

Finally, Garrus’s meal was prepared, and he couldn’t avoid facing his father any longer. He walked over to the table and set down his food, moving to take a seat in a chair opposite his father. “Morning,” Garrus said, deciding to try a friendly approach.

“It is morning, isn’t it,” Castis replied calmly, not taking his eyes off of his datapad. Garrus detected a hint of displeasure in his father’s subvocals. Right. So this was going to be that kind of conversation then. Good to know.

When his father didn’t say anything more, Garrus decided to simply wait him out. He began eating his breakfast.

After several minutes, his father finally broke the uncomfortable silence.

“I saw the news reports last night,” Castis said casually, as always saying less than he meant.

“Yeah? Me, too,” Garrus replied irritably. Spirits, he hated when his father did that.

“ _That_ female is who you left a respectable position at C-Sec to chase after?” His father’s tone was controlled, but his subvocals were now oozing disapproval and disappointment.

Apparently what his father had seen were the news vids of Shepard being taken into custody by the Alliance. Garrus had seen them, too, and even though he’d known it was coming, the sight of Shepard in handcuffs had still been difficult for him to watch.

Garrus stopped himself a split second before rolling his eyes—a decidedly human gesture he’d picked up from serving with humans for so long and one that wouldn’t help his case right now. “Commander Shepard is not a _female_ , Dad, she’s a human woman. And a soldier—an _N7_. And a Council Spectre. And so much more. But yes, that was her.” He stabbed at a piece of fried meat on his plate with a talon and brought it to his mouth, all while glaring at his father.

They were silent for a long moment. The two of them just sat, staring at each other, waiting to see which one would break first.

Castis set his datapad down on the table. “Do you love her?” he asked quietly, not breaking eye contact.

 _What?!_ “Spirits, no! Why on Palaven would you ask me that?” Garrus exclaimed quickly, dropping a piece of meat he'd been about to take a bite out of to his plate. Why could he feel his hide heating up? He desperately hoped the tell-tale vague blue blush wasn’t visible along his neck. He respected Shepard, admired her, perhaps even considered her his closest friend—but he didn’t _love_ her. Not like that. Spirits.

Castis leapt to his feet and threw his hands in the air in frustration. “I don’t know, Garrus. I’m just trying to figure out what it is about this _woman_ —” his father narrowed his eyes at the word before continuing, “—that could get you to leave behind your C-Sec career and risk disgracing your family.”

“This? This is what you want to talk about? I left C-Sec almost _three years ago,_ Dad,” Garrus grumbled at his father. The way they’d left things the last time they’d talked, he never would have guessed that this was where their conversation would begin. “Maybe we could move on to a more recent reason you’re disappointed in me.”

Castis let out a growl of frustration, then reclaimed his seat.

After a moment, he finally said, “The last time we spoke, I wasn’t entirely sure I’d ever see you again. I told you then to make sure you came home to Palaven because we had a lot to sort out. So fine—let’s sort things out. What do you want to talk about? Why are you here, Garrus?”

“Dad, I—” Garrus started to speak, then faltered. He and his father had butted heads constantly over the years, but knowing what Garrus knew now about what was to come? None of that mattered anymore. “I came here to warn you. And to warn the Hierarchy, if I can get anyone to listen to me.”

Unexpectedly, his father only huffed and leaned back in his chair. “Okay, talk. I’m listening,” Castis said, his mandibles flaring slightly.

And since by some miracle he seemed to have his father’s undivided attention, Garrus talked.

To his father’s credit, he did listen. Garrus told him about everything, from chasing Saren and defeating Sovereign to joining with Cerberus and taking down the Collector Base. And he told him about the Reapers and how Shepard had managed to delay them—for now. 

He even told Castis about the two years he’d spent on Omega—some of it, at least, and only in vague strokes. His father disapproved of anything that fell outside his very rigid ideas about the right and wrong ways to go about doing things, and, well, he probably would have considered everything that had happened on Omega to fall into the category of the ‘wrong way’ to do things. But he did tell his father about the day they’d last spoken, and how it had been Shepard who’d arrived during ‘target practice’ and improved his odds. And how despite her timely rescue, he’d ended up taking a missile to the face anyway.

At that, Castis reached out to touch Garrus’s mandible and tilt his head to one side so he could see the scars on the right side of his face. “That looks painful, Son.”

Garrus shrugged. “It was. Not anymore.”

Castis sighed, then withdrew his hand. He folded his arms and leaned on the table, glancing out the window as he seemed to be considering something.

“Shepard is on Earth now, in Alliance custody. And you are here. What is it you are hoping to accomplish, exactly?” his father said, turning back to study him.

Garrus felt himself getting worked up with a desperate desire to convince his father of just how important this all was. “Dad, the Council has known about the Reaper threat for years and refused to do anything. So now the Hierarchy needs to act. We can’t just sit on our haunches not doing anything while the Reapers are on their way. Shepard bought us this extra time—now we need to use it. We need to build up our fleet, strengthen our lines of communication, establish emergency stockpiles of resources and weapons, fortify our military outposts on Menae and Nanus, improve our early warning detection systems—”

Castis interrupted him, calmly holding up a hand. “And how do you propose to convince anyone?”

“I know that you know the Primarch. Can’t you—” Garrus pleaded.

“Can’t I what?” Castis said sharply. “What am I supposed to tell Fedorian, exactly? That a race of sentient machines are on their way here to kill us all?”

“I know how it sounds, Dad, but it’s the truth. Just tell him the truth.” Garrus hoped he was infusing all the earnestness and desperation he felt into his subvocals—and that his father was still capable of seeing the importance of doing what was right, even when the right thing was really, really hard. “The Reapers’ arrival is imminent, Dad—it’s only a matter of time now.”

Castis lowered his gaze for a minute, thinking. Then he looked back at Garrus and said, “I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye—” Garrus scoffed at that, causing his father to pause. Then he continued, “but I’ve never known you to lie to me. I’ll talk to him.”

Garrus’s heart leapt into his throat. “You will?”

“I will. I can’t promise that he will be receptive, but I’ll talk to him.”

“Thank you.” His father simply nodded in reply.

They sat in silence for another minute, neither of them meeting the other’s gaze. His father was back to looking out the window, so Garrus turned his attention back to his breakfast and began picking at the remnants of food on his plate.

“You just missed her, you know,” his father said after a little while.

For a moment, Garrus was just perplexed by his father's non sequitur. "Missed who?"

"Your mother."

Garrus stiffened then, his heart immediately pounding behind his chest plates as panic seized him.

“Oh, spirits, she didn’t—did she?” He was terrified of the answer, but he asked the question anyway. Of _course_ he asked. If something had happened to his mother, he _had_ to know.

“No, she’s okay. Well, not _okay_ , but she’s okay. We were contacted by someone—a Dr. Kieron, I think it was—at the Helos Medical Institute. It seems that they have some new cooperation program with the Hierarchy and were willing to waive all fees previously required to participate in their medical trials. Your mother has been enrolled in an experimental Corpalis treatment protocol, but she had to travel offworld.” Castis glanced at Garrus out of the corner of his eye. “But you wouldn’t know anything about all that?”

Garrus relaxed at his father’s words, calming himself with several deep breaths. He knew the Institute had received the Collector tissue he’d asked Mordin to send them, but he didn’t know it would translate so quickly into possible treatment trials for his mother. _Thank the spirits_.

“No, Dad, but that’s amazing. I hope it helps.” He frowned, then asked, “You sent her offworld by herself?”

Castis’s mandibles flared as he replied, “You know your mother. She didn’t want anyone making a fuss over her—insisted that Solana and I stay here for now. Her doctors agreed to send me updates as often as they can.”

“Hmm,” Garrus hummed. “Speaking of Sol—where is she?”

His father waved his hand in the air. “Who knows. Probably with that male she’s been spending so much time with lately.”

Garrus’s browplates rose at that. Sol was spending time with a male? That was news to him. Though, of course, it might not be news if he’d done a better job keeping in touch with his sister these past years. She wasn’t a fledgling anymore.

“Well, if it’s alright, I’m going to stay here and just be home... for a while. See what I can do about preparing us for the Reapers. And in the meantime, maybe you, me, and Sol can spend some time together. As a family.”

After a moment, Castis nodded, wrapping his hands around his mug again and taking another sip of his now-cool drink. _Baby steps_ , Garrus thought to himself. _Baby steps_.

  
*****

 **  
From: Sender Unknown <archangel_omega58@exnetmail.com>  
** **To: Recipient Unknown <realscientistsalarian@exnetmail.com>  
** **Sent: 26 MAR 2186 at 1330:56 UTC  
** **Subject: thank you**

  
My mother began her Corpalis treatment trial. Thank you again for your help.

\-- Archangel

  
*****

 **  
From: Adm. Steven Hackett <steven.hackett@sysalliance.nav.mil>  
** **To: Adm. David Anderson <david.anderson@sysalliance.nav.mil>  
** **Sent: 26 MAR 2186 at 1809:23 PST (27 MAR 2186 at 0109:23 UTC)  
** **Subject: Re: Re: Interrogations**

  
David,

It sounds like you have everything in hand. Let me know how Chakwas’ interrogation goes. I need to depart for Arcturus soon, so I’ll be counting on you to continue handling things from here.

Things with Shepard have been complicated. Antella interfered with her in-processing and apparently her medical exam was quite… invasive. Not your standard health and wellness check. I am going to send you Vega’s report. I need to maintain the appearance of keeping my distance now, but I’ll check in on her once more before I leave. She’s being housed in the officers’ wing, upper level. I’ll send you the info.

Vega has been instructed to keep her in her room as much as possible, and she is not to go anywhere unattended. He has a small detail assigned to him to assist with covering guard shifts. Her communication and extranet access is still revoked, and she is not being allowed visitors, other than officers with the highest security clearance. In my absence, overseeing her detention will fall to you.

Steven


	6. Savior (Anderson)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anderson observes as Dr. Chakwas is interrogated by Major Antella about Shepard and Cerberus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: There's been a bit of a delay between posts because I got into writing a couple chapters that are actually weeks or months down the timeline, so they aren't ready to be posted yet (oops). For now, here's Anderson and Chakwas facing off against Major Antella. (Antella sure has become quite the piece of shit in my mind, so thank you, Shadow Broker, for having an email in Hackett's dossier that mentions Antella so I could utilize him as a little villain in my story!)
> 
> CW - It is mentioned here that Shepard was subjected to an ‘extensive and invasive’ medical examination (that was also hinted at in an email in the last chapter), and it is discussed that her consent was not obtained, with the justification given that she is in custody (to be clear, there isn’t anything sexual or otherwise inappropriate in that regard being implied). Also, Shepard is okay and she can defend herself, but she likely wouldn’t feel like she could challenge what was being done to her if she felt like it was part of her turning herself in. That being said, it’s completely unethical to perform medical procedures/examinations on a person without their informed consent—Antella is a bastard and Anderson and Chakwas are rightly pissed about it. Nothing at all about the examination is described, but if the idea of that happening to someone isn’t something you want to read about, I wanted to forewarn you that it will come up here.

Anderson tried to look inconspicuous as he strode quickly through the maze of hallways of Alliance HQ, heading towards the wing that housed the Internal Naval Affairs offices. That damned excitable engineer from R&D had kept him on the phone longer than he’d intended, going on and on about her ideas for the Normandy’s retrofit into a mobile command center, and Anderson was about to be late for this morning’s interrogation because of it.

As he hurried along, Anderson realized that he felt strangely nervous, despite the fact that _he_ wasn’t the one being questioned this morning: that ‘privilege’ belonged to Dr. Chakwas. In fact, not only would he not be answering any questions today, it would be best if Anderson said nothing at all the entire time; he needed to be seen as an impartial observer. But there was so much at stake—both for Shepard _and_ for humanity—that every little obstacle that threatened to derail Hackett’s meticulous planning had Anderson’s anxiety ratcheted up to eleven. And these DINA interrogations were at the top of the obstacle list as far as Anderson was concerned.

It certainly wasn’t that he was worried about Chakwas. No, he had absolute faith in her and no doubts about her ability to handle a snake like Antella. He was less confident about what would happen when Moreau’s turn came in a couple days' time. The Normandy’s pilot was decidedly less… polished than the Normandy’s chief medical officer. Whereas Joker was at times brash and emotional, Chakwas was highly intelligent, precise, and deliberate—the consummate professional. She was experienced, too, having served on many ships and lived through many major battles, from Shanxi to the Battle of the Citadel to the destruction of the Normandy SR-1. Anderson felt sure she could handle herself in an interrogation room.

And one thing he knew about Chakwas was that she was loyal. To the Alliance as an institution, sure, and to himself and Hackett specifically, yes, but most importantly, she was loyal to Shepard. Anderson knew the two had grown close on the Normandy SR-1. While at first he had been a little surprised to learn that Chakwas was on the SR-2 given the Cerberus connections, he only had to give it a moment’s thought before he understood. Chakwas had never married and didn’t have a family of her own, so she was on the SR-2 because Shepard and Moreau were there. It was probably that simple for her. And honestly he had been a bit relieved when he’d found out she would be there for those two when he himself could not be.

He would do his best to be there for all three of them now.

With that thought, he turned the corner and was relieved to see Dr. Chakwas still standing at the far end of the hallway. If Antella hadn't pulled her into a conference room yet, that meant Anderson wasn’t too late.

Anderson hurried down the hall and held out his hand in greeting. “Good morning, Dr. Chakwas. Are you ready for this?”

“Good morning, Anderson,” she replied in her familiar British accent as she shook his hand. “And you know you don’t have to worry about me.”

“Oh, I’m more worried for Major Antella than I am for you. I know you can handle yourself,” he said kindly. He lowered his voice before continuing; he wanted to say a few things to her before the interrogation began but didn’t know how much time they had. “But I don’t trust Antella, and I have concerns about his integrity. It's like he’s pursuing some weird vendetta against Shepard. Hackett says he’s been trying to take her into custody for a couple months now.”

Chakwas looked as surprised as he had been when Hackett had informed him of that little tidbit the other day. Anderson quickly glanced both ways down the hallway, and when they appeared to at least have another moment before Antella would arrive, he took a step closer to her.

“Karin, Hackett has tasked me with keeping an eye on as much of Antella’s investigation as possible so that he can focus his attention elsewhere. I don’t know everything that Hackett’s got going on, but the man has a few cards up his sleeve, from what I can tell. The only reason I’ve even been allowed to sit in today is that I’m an admiral and the former Councilor and I still have some political sway in the Alliance. I won’t be allowed to interfere in the questioning, but I can stay and observe.” He reached out and placed a hand on her elbow. “We haven’t had any time to catch up. Are you really doing alright?” Anderson asked, genuinely concerned.

Chakwas bit her lip nervously and broke eye contact with him for a moment. It might have been the first time ever that Anderson had seen a slight crack in her composure. It actually alarmed him to see her this way just as she was about to enter the interrogation room with Antella.

“David, some things happened during this last mission that are hard for me to talk about. It’s barely been two weeks and I’m still rather shaken up. The only people who know the details were all on the Normandy with me, so I’m not worried it will come up today.” Her eyes darted to the side for a moment, focusing on something behind him before returning to meet his gaze again. “I know they’re really just looking for answers regarding Shepard. So I’m fine enough to be here. For her, I can do this.”

Anderson nodded at Chakwas’ explanation. He had tried to get Shepard to tell him what had happened in the weeks before she’d turned herself over to the Alliance, but she had hardly given him anything. He assumed she'd at least told Hackett more than she'd told him. For now, he’d have to be content in knowing that these women were strong enough to take care of themselves.

“Alright, Karin. I’m trusting you when you tell me you’re okay,” he said, withdrawing his hand from her arm.

“Trying to tamper with my witness’s testimony, Admiral?” called a snide voice from behind Anderson. He turned and saw Major Antella walking briskly down the hallway towards them. The man did not look pleased to see Anderson.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Major,” Anderson replied coldly. “Just greeting the good doctor here. We’ve served together, you know. Known each other a long time.”

“Oh, I’m well aware.” Antella brushed past Anderson and unlocked the door they had been standing outside of. “Good morning, Dr. Chakwas. After you,” he said, waving for her to enter ahead of him.

Anderson was about follow Chakwas into the room when Antella cut past him and entered first. He bristled at the disrespect but held his tongue as the major directed Chakwas to have a seat in a plastic chair that had been pulled up to a small conference table. A single bottle of water had been provided, but otherwise Anderson couldn’t see that any consideration had been given towards her comfort.

He was frowning at the setup when Antella addressed him. “Admiral, a chair has been provided for you there. You have been permitted—against my express wishes, I might add—to observe this interrogation and observe only. I would have preferred you remain outside the room, but I was instructed to honor your request to be physically present in the room. But I’d like to remind you, _Admiral_ , that you are not to interfere in any way with my questioning or attempt to influence my witness’s responses.”

“Of course, _Major_. I am simply here to observe,” he said. He didn’t clarify that it was really Antella he was here to observe, not Chakwas. Antella narrowed his eyes, suspicious of Anderson’s easy concession, but he didn’t press Anderson further.

Anderson took his seat on the uncomfortable folding chair that had been placed in the corner behind and to the right of Chakwas just as Antella settled into his chair at the table opposite Dr. Chakwas. He noted that Antella had deliberately positioned Anderson so that he could keep an eye on him during the interview—though, of course, that served Anderson’s purposes, as well. Being able to clearly observe Antella and his body language as he questioned Chakwas suited him just fine.

The major took a moment to situate himself, pulling a datapad out of his briefcase and activating an audio recording device. Security cameras blinked red in the upper corners of the room as well; Anderson was certain everything that happened in this room was going to be captured from every possible angle. For her part, Chakwas seemed calm as she folded her hands in front of her and patiently waited for the questions to begin.

Antella cleared his throat, then began speaking. “Today is Tuesday the 28th of March 2186, and the time is approximately 1100 hours Pacific Standard. My name is Major Caleb Antella with the Department of Internal Naval Affairs. This interrogation is taking place in room 117B of the Draper Wing of the Systems Alliance HQ building in Vancouver. Also present is Admiral David Anderson, who is here in an observational capacity.

“For the record, we are here today as part of an investigation into the whereabouts and activities of one Jane Shepard over the past two and a half years. Will the witness please state your name and rank for the record.”

He paused, looking to Dr. Chakwas. Anderson hadn’t been privy to Antella’s planned questions, though he could guess where his lines of questioning might lead. What he didn’t like was the look in Antella’s eye. The man was planning something; he looked like he wanted a particular piece of information from Chakwas and was determined to do anything to get it.

“Of course. My name is Dr. Karin Chakwas, Chief Medical Officer aboard the Normandy SR-2 currently on a sanctioned year-long sabbatical from the Systems Alliance Navy,” she stated plainly. Anderson wanted to applaud Chakwas already; reminding Antella that she was on an approved leave of absence from the Alliance was a good move.

Antella frowned slightly before continuing. “Before we begin, I would like you to know that my team and I have reviewed all of the records that have been recovered from the medbay of the Normandy SR-2. I would like to ask you some follow-up questions on the record here today.”

He glanced down at his datapad for a second, then sat back, his hand resting on the table while his finger lightly tapped idly on the tabletop. Antella let the silence linger for so long that Anderson started to wonder what the hell the man was thinking. Was he expecting Chakwas to break under the pressure of his silent stare? Did he know his subject at all?

Finally, Antella spoke. “Dr. Chakwas, is it your professional opinion as an Alliance-trained physician that Jane Shepard is who she says she is?”

Anderson blinked. _That_ was what he was going with as his opening question?

Chakwas was quiet for only a moment before she replied, “Well, I don’t know. Who does she say she is?”

Antella frowned again. Anderson tried not to laugh. He wasn’t sure what answer Antella had been hoping for, but it presumably wasn’t that.

“She says she is Jane Shepard,” the major responded tersely.

“If Jane Shepard says that she is Jane Shepard, then yes, I would say that she _is_ who she says she is.”

“What I’m getting at—” he began to say, but Chakwas interrupted him.

“I can guess at what you’re getting at, Major,” she said sharply, waving a hand dismissively.

Antella pushed forward anyway. “We are trying to discern whether the woman we have taken into custody is the real Jane Shepard, given that the Alliance declared Commander Shepard to be _killed in action_ with the destruction of the Normandy SR-1 back 2183.” He raised an eyebrow at Chakwas. “I believe you were present for said incident?”

Anderson noticed Chakwas stiffen, hesitating a moment before answering. _Shit_ , Anderson thought, sitting up a little, _where was he going with this?_

“Yes. I was.”

“Yes you were aboard the Normandy SR-1 when it was attacked and destroyed by geth?”

“Yes, I was aboard the Normandy SR-1 when it was attacked,” Chakwas clarified carefully.

“Not by geth?” Antella pressed.

“I did not see any geth, no.”

“Did the Alliance recover Commander Shepard’s body after the attack?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“And did you see Commander Shepard die? Can you confirm that she was killed during this attack?”

A short pause. “I did not. I suppose that I cannot. I can only say that she was not in any of the escape pods with the rest of the surviving crew.”

“Did anyone?”

“Did anyone what?”

“See her die.”

There was an extremely long pause before Chakwas answered, a long pause that Antella surely had noticed, just as Anderson had. She seemed to be wrestling with something, though Anderson had no idea what.* “I believe Flight Lieutenant Jeff Moreau may be the person best suited to speak to that,” she said finally. "It is my understanding that he was the last person to speak to her."

Chakwas reached for the bottle of water that had been provided her and unscrewed the cap. Anderson noted with concern that her hands seemed to be shaking slightly. He wondered seriously if he should ask Antella to give Chakwas a break already.

“I will be speaking with Mr. Moreau. Don’t worry.” Antella paused, flicking through his datapad a moment before continuing. “How did it come to be that the Alliance declared her to have been killed in action, given that her body was never recovered and no one actually—”

Chakwas leaned forward, interrupting Antella mid-question. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand where you are going with this line of questioning. This happened over two years ago. We’ve all given our testimony on this matter. It was one of the most traumatic days of my life, and I’d like to know why you’re asking me to relive it today.”

Anderson shifted uncomfortably. Alchera wasn’t _the_ most traumatic day of her life? Jesus. Whatever had happened a couple weeks ago with Shepard must have been bad if it was _worse_ than Alchera. But he was proud of Chakwas for pushing back against Antella’s continued questions about the SR-1, which seemed to be designed only to unsettle her.

Instead of answering Chakwas’ question, the major circled back to his original line of questioning.

“You said that you believe that Jane Shepard—the woman currently in Alliance custody, the woman accused of defecting to Cerberus and of destroying the Alpha Relay which resulted in the deaths of over 300,000 batarian civilians—is the real Commander Jane Shepard.” When Chakwas remained silent, Antella raised an eyebrow. “Well?”

“Well, what? You haven’t asked me a question, Major,” Chakwas countered.

“Fine. Dr. Chakwas, is it your professional opinion that this is the real Jane Shepard?” he asked, reframing his words slightly.

“Yes, it is my professional medical opinion that the Jane Shepard you have in custody is authentic.”

“And how did you arrive at that conclusion?”

“I thought you said you’ve examined my medical records from the Normandy?” Chakwas asked.

At the mention of medical records, Anderson felt his hackles raise. Yesterday morning, Hackett had sent over Vega’s report about what Antella’s own medical team had put Shepard through during her in-processing medical eval.

“I have examined them. I have them right here,” Antella replied, gesturing at his datapad. “I've also had my own physicians and scientists examine her.”

“And apparently quite extensively and invasively, too,” Anderson spat out under his breath but loud enough for the others to hear him. Chakwas whipped her head around to look at him, her eyes slightly wide. Anderson knew he wasn’t meant to interfere, but he was still livid about what he’d read in Vega’s report. He couldn’t let this pass by without comment.

“What does he mean,” Chakwas asked, turning back to look at Antella. “What did you do?”

“Only what was necessary to try and uncover the truth,” Antella said coolly, leaning back in his chair. He glared at Anderson. “Do I need to remind you, Admiral, that you are only allowed to be here because you agreed to be a _silent_ observer?”

“What have you done to Shepard?” Chakwas demanded again, drawing Antella’s attention. Her tone was fierce, protective—more than that of a physician inquiring after a patient who had formerly been under her care. It was the tone of someone concerned about the welfare of a family member. Anderson recognized it, of course, because he cared for Shepard too, was pretty sure he had known her longer than anyone else alive. He was glad Shepard had Chakwas on her side.

The casualness of Antella’s response made Anderson’s blood run cold. “Shepard was subject to the typical array of Alliance in-processing medical exams and tests,” he explained dismissively. “However, because of the unusual nature of the situation and the complexity of Shepard’s medical status, it was determined that a more extensive examination was justified.”

“Determined by whom? _I_ am her primary physician,” Chakwas spat. She was furious, angrier Anderson had ever seen her.

“Perhaps you _were_ her physician. That is no longer the case,” Antella replied, reaching again for his datapad.

“Wait, you said she was ‘subject to’ these examinations and tests,” Chakwas said suddenly, her tone icy. “Did you obtain Shepard’s consent?”

Antella froze. “I don’t see—”

Chakwas cut him off, bolting to her feet and placing her palms on the table as she leaned forward. “Did. You. Have. Her. Consent?”

Antella held up a hand. “Shepard’s consent was not required as she is in the custody of the Systems Alliance, held under Parliamentary Criminal Code Article 7(1)(b) which permits—”

“I don’t bloody care what articles or codes you want to cite at me. That woman has been through enough without—”

“Karin,” Anderson said sharply, getting to his feet. He took several steps towards her and placed a hand on her shoulder. She was practically vibrating with anger, and she turned, suddenly, and faced him.

“David, please don’t tell me you are okay with this,” she said, her eyes pleading as she looked at him. If only they were able to speak freely right now, but with the major only a meter away and the blinking red lights of the recording cameras in his peripheral vision, Anderson knew he couldn't say everything he wanted.

“Of _course_ I’m not. I promise, Hackett is looking into it.”

“But—”

“Shepard’s alright. She’s not in Antella’s custody, she's in mine. And her guards submit daily reports. I’d know if she wasn’t well.” Anderson looked over at Antella who was idly examining his fingernails and pretending to ignore them, though he was certainly listening to every word. If he didn’t think he had possibly something to gain, he would intercede and throw Anderson out for interfering with his witness. “Karin, are you alright to continue? It’s important that you finish this interview so we can clear and reinstate you.”

In the corner of Anderson’s eye, he could see Antella straighten. “Anderson, I don’t know what you—”

“Shut up, Major,” he said, not bothering to look over at the man. “Karin, tell me you’re okay to continue this. If you aren’t, I will escort you out of here right now and we will reschedule this for a later date.”

“Anderson, you can’t—”

“Major, you will stop talking right now or so help me God I will have you written up and charged with insubordination. I don't care what department you work for.” Anderson took in a deep breath to calm himself, then exhaled slowly. “Karin?”

Dr. Chakwas glanced at Antella for a moment, then looked back at Anderson. “Yes.” She nodded. “I can continue.”

Anderson moved Chakwas’ chair back into place and helped her to sit back down in it. While she reached for her bottle to take another drink of water, Anderson glared at Antella and was pleased to see that the man had the sense to look at least a little chastened.

“Major, I don’t care what you think Shepard has or hasn’t done or what you think Dr. Chakwas knows or doesn’t know. The tenor of this interview will improve. Finish asking your questions and let’s get this over with as quickly as possible. Understood?”

“Understood, Admiral.”

“Good. Please continue then,” Anderson said, retaking his seat. He watched as Antella picked up his datapad and scrolled through a file for a few moments, presumably trying to decide what lines of questioning he could safely get away with pursuing without antagonizing Anderson further. 

Anderson took in another deep breath. He had let the man get under his skin far too easily; it had been unseemly of him to lash out at Antella the way that he had. But he had been outraged by the man’s treatment of Shepard, too, and the exchange with Chakwas had pushed him over the edge.

Antella set down his datapad once more and folded his hands on the table in front of him. He asked his next question with a calm tone. “How is it that Jane Shepard came to be in the employ of Cerberus?” His eyes darted over to Anderson as if daring him to accuse him of asking an inappropriate question. Anderson almost snorted in disgust.

Chakwas folded her hands in her lap before answering. “I can’t answer that.”

“Can’t answer? Or won’t answer?” Antella pressed.

“Unless you want me to hypothesize, I _can’t_ answer. I wasn’t present for any of that. I didn’t even know Shepard was part of the project when Cerberus approached me—not at first.”

That surprised Anderson to hear, and Antella looked interested by the information as well.

“Curious,” he said, like he’d found a loose thread and intended to pull on it to see what might come unraveled. “I’d assumed it was Commander Shepard herself who’d approached you about coming to work for Cerberus. If not Shepard, then who?”

Chakwas shook her head. “I don’t know. I wasn’t given a name. Only a file. We’d all been reassigned after the Normandy; I was at on Mars at the Naval Medical Center there. A stranger approached me and asked if I wanted a job back on a starship. The operative clearly wasn’t Alliance, and when I declined, she handed me a medical file.” Chakwas glanced back at Anderson and gave him a meaningful look before she turned back to Antella and added, “It was Jeff Moreau’s.”

“I see,” said Antella. “So you joined Cerberus to work with Mr. Moreau.”

“I still didn’t know the organization that had approached me was Cerberus. They just told me when and where to meet a shuttle and that I would be taken to a state-of-the-art facility where I would be set up with a medical lab. I would be tasked with continued treatment of Joker’s Vrolik Syndrome and serving as physician to the rest of a crew they were assembling for a secret project. I applied for and was granted a leave of absence from the Alliance. I was only informed that the project was headed by Cerberus when I arrived at the facility.”

Anderson was a little surprised that Chakwas had gone along on such a venture. It was risky, going along with them with so little information about what she was getting herself into. She must have really missed working on a starship or really cared for Joker. Or perhaps her loyalty to the Alliance had been thrown into doubt after everything that had happened with Shepard and the dispersal of the crew after the loss of the first Normandy. It was probably some combination of all of those. He realized, looking back, that he should have reached out to Chakwas and Joker more after Shepard's death; he regretted that the distraction of his new role as Councilor had meant he'd failed those two in some way.

“And when did you become aware of Shepard’s involvement or connection to the project? To Cerberus?” Antella asked.

“Not long after. Just a couple months later, they finished construction of the Normandy SR-2 and brought me and Joker aboard. That’s when they told us about Shepard, that—that she…” Chakwas trailed off, so Antella finished for her.

“That she was alive.”

Chakwas nodded.

“And you believed them? About her being alive, I mean?”

“Of course not. It was… ludicrous. Insane. But then… the next day... there she was. Standing right in front of me in my med bay. I couldn’t believe it. And then I spoke with her, examined her,” Chakwas paused then, and Anderson guessed she was glaring at Antella, “looked at the scant records they gave me access to—”

“Those would be—” he checked quickly something on his datapad— “the Lazarus Project records?” Antella clarified.

“Yes. I was given no access to anything regarding how Shepard was… revived. Just baseline data from just before she was awoken from her medically induced coma. If you have questions about how they did any of it—I can’t answer them. I’m sure your _examinations_ confirmed what mine did: extensive use of cybernetics, evidence of organ and tissue transplantation, skin grafts, facial reconstruction. You have my files. How that was all possible in the first place, I don’t know.”

“Hmm. If you can’t tell me _how_ Shepard came to Cerberus, perhaps you can tell me _why_ she agreed to work for them? I am still perplexed by how that is possible, given what I know about her supposed allegiance to the Alliance and your belief that she is the genuine article.”

Anderson winced at this line of questioning, hoping Antella didn’t notice. It was not common knowledge that Shepard had come to see the Council on the Citadel, and Shepard’s miraculous reappearance months ago had been largely relegated to the realm of rumor until Bahak. Clearly Antella had been aware, though, since Hackett had told him that Antella had been trying to bring in Shepard for several months. Anderson often wondered if more should have been done more to bring Shepard back into the Alliance fold the moment they’d had confirmation she was still alive, instead of letting her work with Cerberus to take down the Collectors. It had been a calculated risk, one he still wasn’t sure had been worth it. Look where everything had ended up, after all.

“You will have to ask Shepard that,” Chakwas said.

“Oh, I plan to,” Antella sneered. “But for now, I would like to hear your answer,” he countered.

“Then I am afraid you will be disappointed. The commander neither consulted me about her work with Cerberus, nor did she inform me of her plans or intentions.”

“You’re joking,” he said with a scoff. “You expect me to believe that you served on the SR-2 with Shepard for months and don’t have a single clue what Shepard was doing with Cerberus?”

“You asked me about her motivations for working with them. I do not know her reasons. But I trusted that Shepard’s motivations were honorable and that her temporary alliance with Cerberus was for good reason and was just that—temporary. She harbored no good will towards Cerberus that I ever observed. It seemed to be a temporary partnership driven by necessity.”

“Necessity? She should have returned to the Alliance the moment she was able. She’s a defector, a traitor.”

“I disagree. The Alliance had already given up on her, declared her Killed In Action over two years ago. After Shepard came back, when she was well enough, she immediately began looking into the reports of missing colonists. Reports the Alliance had largely been ignoring. She put aside her personal enmity for Cerberus and used them for their resources because they were the only ones willing to back her. Shepard— _not the Alliance_ —was the only one who did anything about the abductions and—” she cut off suddenly and sucked in a shaky breath— “there are countless men and women who owe her their lives. Myself included. From my perspective, Jane Shepard is a hero. A savior.”

Anderson just listened as Chakwas spoke, impassioned, on Shepard’s behalf. But when she confessed that she owed Shepard her life and called her a savior, he froze. What the hell had happened out there? He wished the last few weeks weren’t such a mystery to him; even just the bits and pieces he knew or could guess about what had happened between the Omega 4 Relay and the Alpha Relay had him reeling. He knew that Hackett knew more than he did, but he wasn’t sure anyone but Shepard herself could provide any real illumination about the last couple of weeks, let alone the past two years.

“I think that’s all I have for today,” Antella said finally. “I’ll be in touch if I need any more from you, Dr. Chakwas. I trust you can both see yourselves out?”

He barely gave them a second glance before he’d snatched up his datapad and recorder, thrust them both in his briefcase, and strode swiftly out the door.

Chakwas turned in her chair to look at Anderson. “David, I—”

Anderson shook his head sharply, cutting her off. His eyes darted up to the corner of the room and Chakwas’ gaze drifted up until he could tell that she remembered the security cameras. She lowered his gaze back to his and nodded.

“Shall I walk out with you, Karin? You’re staying in offsite Alliance Housing, right?”

“Yes, thank you,” she said, standing from her chair. She seemed a little shaken by everything that had just happened, but overall he thought she looked okay enough.

He gestured her towards the door and followed her into the hall. They walked silently for a minute, side by side, both reflecting on everything that had happened in that tiny room.

“That man is absolutely vile, Anderson,” Chakwas said finally as they turned a corner towards the front doors of HQ. It wasn’t a sunny day, but at least it wasn’t raining; Anderson could see the familiar gray overcast sky of early spring in Vancouver through the large glass windows on either side of the building’s entry doors.

“I agree. Hackett’s been dealing with him longer than I have,” Anderson replied. He rubbed at his forehead, where a dull ache had been growing over the past half hour. “I don’t exactly know what the plan is to deal with all the trouble he’s causing, but Hackett seems to have one. I trust him to handle it, anyway."

There was a long moment of silence between them as they stood together in the foyer near the doors. Finally, Anderson said, "Karin, you know that you can tell—"

"Anderson, I appreciate your concern, but I'm just not ready to talk about what happened yet—especially if you don't know anything about it already. I... need some time, alright?"

Anderson crossed his arms and looked down at the floor. "Shepard wouldn't tell me anything either. I tried to talk to her that first night on the Normandy before we arrived in Vancouver, but she wouldn't talk to me, said I wouldn't understand. It's not like her to keep things from me. You know that I've known her practically forever, since she was a teenager."

Chakwas reached out and placed a hand on his arm. "Given the things she has been through in the past two weeks alone—and I'm sure I don't even know the half of it—you need to give her some time, too. Just please tell me you'll do what you can for her. And for Joker. It really feels like we're all being pushed our separate ways for good this time—although I thought that after Shepard died and she still came back to us and brought us together, so..." Chakwas laughed, shaking her head incredulously. "I guess you never can know with Shepard."

He smiled. "That's true. I'll let you know about your status as soon as I hear from Hackett. Will you be alright from here?"

"Yes, I'll be fine. Thank you, David," Chakwas said. She patted his arm, then turned and walked out the front doors into the brisk afternoon. Anderson turned and headed back through the maze of hallways to his office. He had an email to compose.

  
*****

 **  
From: Adm. David Anderson <david.anderson@sysalliance.nav.mil>  
** **To: Adm. Steven Hackett <steven.hackett@sysalliance.nav.mil>  
** **Sent: 28 MAR 2186 at 1412:01 PST (28 MAR 2186 at 2121:01 UTC)  
** **Subject: Re: Vega's Report re: Shepard's MedExam**

  
Steven,

I don’t even know where to begin. Chakwas had her interrogation this morning. Antella seems to still doubt that Shepard is Shepard despite all the evidence—he practically threw what his medical team did to Shepard in Chakwas' face. It quite upset her—please tell me you are going to do something about him. He brought up Alchera, questioned Chakwas about why she had joined Cerberus, why Shepard had joined Cerberus…

The whole thing was a mess, really. I can’t imagine he got anything useful from it, other than Chakwas essentially confirming what he already suspected: that Shepard was, at least to some extent, working willingly with Cerberus. He seems hooked on the idea that Shepard should have returned to the Alliance as soon as she was able to and the fact that she didn't makes her guilty of defection, treason. I don’t know how he would react to knowing that we (with the Council's support) essentially encouraged Shepard to do what she could out in the Terminus Systems instead of bringing her home.

You should know that Chakwas is having a really hard time, though she would likely tell you otherwise. I think it’s clear that she and that whole crew went through something terrible out there, maybe you know more about it than I do, but I think she needs to talk to someone. She might turn it down, but we need to make the offer. Send word as soon as you can get her reinstated.

David

PS - Oh and by the way, I might have threatened to charge Antella with insubordination during the interrogation today. Thought you should know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This little moment here is referencing some information about Shepard's death that is revealed in my short (completed) story "Lost Time." So if you're curious what that's all about, it comes up in the last chapter of that story.


	7. Intelligence (Joker)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following his interrogation, Joker is escorted to the Normandy so he can collect the rest of his belongings. Joker and EDI make a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote these two interrogation-related chapters close together, so since they're both done, here's the second one. I think life/work is about to get extremely busy, so I can't promise how soon I'll get the next chapter up--so that's why this Joker chapter is going up now. Enjoy!

“So the SR-2 has its own VI, huh?”

“Uh, yep,” Joker replied, trying to keep up with the absurdly muscular lieutenant. Joker had put in a request to visit the Normandy to collect the rest of his belongings as soon as his interrogation had finished, so Admiral Anderson had sent Lieutenant Vega to escort him as soon as the man was freed up from whatever it was he did all day—probably working out. Joker was pretty sure Vega could easily crush him without breaking a sweat.

Joker remembered meeting Vega briefly in the hallway of the ship just before they’d left Omega for Earth. The lieutenant had been quite complimentary of Joker’s flying and had seemed ecstatic to be meeting the Normandy’s famous pilot. The man had practically broken his fingers with his vice-like grip when they’d shaken hands. He seemed slightly less awed by Joker this time around, instead trying to satisfy his curiosity by asking Joker a million questions about the Normandy.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me the last time I was onboard?” Vega asked. They reached the elevator and paused, waiting for it to return to the CIC from whatever deck it had been idling on.

“How should I know,” Joker muttered under his breath. It was annoying having to be escorted around his own ship. It had only been a week since Shepard had turned them all over to the Alliance, a decision Joker still wasn’t sure had been the right one, but it already felt like it had been much longer.

He wondered how Shepard was doing in Alliance custody. He hadn’t heard anything at all, only seen the vid of her being perp walked off the Normandy on the evening news. Perhaps he could convince Lieutenant Muscles here to give him an update—if the man even knew anything. Major Antella certainly hadn’t given up any info when Joker had asked during his interrogation a few hours ago.

_  
“It’s my understanding that you were the last person to see Jane Shepard alive before she was killed on the SR-1,” Antella began bluntly._

_Joker swallowed hard as he tried not to get lost in his memories of that day. He nodded. “Yeah, I was. Shit, thanks for bringing it up.”_

_“We’re trying to determine exactly how it is that Jane Shepard is here now if she was killed that day.”_

_“Fuck if I know—I’m just a pilot. Shepard got me into an escape pod and gave up her life to do it. I watched her get spaced.” Joker paused, the memory of that moment, including the sound of his own voice as he screamed her name, roaring to life in his mind. It was something he dreamt about more often than he’d ever admit to anyone. He forced himself to continue. “Flash forward two years and Cerberus is telling me that Shepard’s alive and they’re bringing her in to head up the crew they’d been assembling for their secret project. I couldn’t believe it. The next day they’re showing me the Normandy, and the day after that I’m showing the Normandy to Shepard.”_

_“And you’re certain it’s her?” Antella pressed._

_“Shepard’s like family to me. Hell, I know her better than I know my own sister. It’s her.”_

_“I see,” Antella said._

_“By the way, how is Shepard?” Joker asked. “I haven’t been allowed to see her.”_

_“Shepard’s current status and location are being held on a need-to-know basis. You don’t.”_

_“That’s bullshit.”_

_“Excuse me?” Antella said sharply._

_“Sorry,_ sir _, but this whole thing is bullshit. Shepard is a goddamn hero, and you’re all a bunch of idiots if you’re going to continue dicking around with this fucking witch hunt—”_

_Antella calmly held up a hand. “Anderson, for once, I’m glad you’re here. Please impress upon Mr. Moreau how important it is that he cooperate with my investigation—unless he wishes to find himself court-martialed alongside Jane Shepard.”_

  
Joker was drawn out of his thoughts when Vega turned around and eyed him. “What’s his—or her—name?”

After a moment, Joker realized what the lieutenant was asking and scoffed. “His? Her? Don’t you think that’s going a bit far?” The door to the elevator opened, and Joker unsteadily followed Vega inside. As the door began to slide shut, he added, “We call it the ship cancer.”

Joker glanced up at a confused-looking Vega and smirked, watching as the man furrowed his brow in confusion and mouthed the words _ship cancer_ silently to himself. It had been a while since Joker had considered EDI as such, but the less friendly he seemed towards EDI in front of Alliance crew until he had a chance to talk to her, the better.

“You may address me as EDI,” came EDI’s cool voice over the ship’s comms.

“Okay, Eee-dee,” Vega replied slowly, as if testing out the unusual name. He looked down at Joker and asked, “What does Eee-dee mean?”

“E. D. I. Enhanced Defense Intelligence. EDI is the ship’s electronic warfare and cyberwarfare defense system.”

“Ah,” the lieutenant said, already sounding bored by the conversation about the ship’s virtual intelligence system. “So. You told Anderson you needed to collect some personal items?” Vega asked, gesturing Joker ahead of him when the lift door opened on the crew deck. “Why didn’t you bring them with you before? You could have saved us a trip.”

Joker limped ahead and hesitated just outside the Crew Quarters door. He turned to Vega and shrugged. “Forgot.” The real reason, of course, was that he needed some reason the Alliance might let him back aboard the ship. He might never have seen the inside of the Normandy again otherwise; it had been a gamble that thankfully had paid off. And now he needed to come up with a reason for the lieutenant to not follow him into this room.

“Well? Let’s get packing then,” Vega grumbled impatiently. “I don’t have all day.”

“Uh, do you think I might have a few minutes to myself in there?” Joker asked, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck and trying to look slightly abashed. “If this is the last time I’m going to be aboard the Normandy, I’d like a minute to say goodbye.”

Vega narrowed his eyes in a mixture of puzzlement and suspicion, but he ultimately gave Joker a nod.

“Great, thanks!” Joker said cheerily. He quickly hit the panel on the door, then slipped inside and shut the door behind him before his bodybuilder escort had a chance to change his mind.

A quick glance around the room told him it was empty, and he hobbled over to the nearest bunk, the one he had occupied over the past few months. Joker rested a hand on his empty locker and looked down at the untidily made bed. He’d never been one for following Alliance regs to a T, and anyway, the Normandy SR-2 had been a Cerberus vessel, not Alliance. He was a little surprised no one had touched the bunk over the past week, however.

“EDI?”

“Yes, Jeff?”

Joker paused, looking around again to ensure that the room was empty. He had already checked, but given what he needed to talk to EDI about, he wanted to be sure.

“Will you lock the door for a few minutes?”

EDI replied, “I do not think Lieutenant Vega would approve of you locking him out of the Crew Quarters, Jeff.”

Joker pinched the bridge of his nose. “Is he looking directly at the door, EDI?” he asked a little impatiently.

A pause. “No.”

“Okay, then just do it. Pretty please? I need to talk to you for a couple minutes without the possibility of being interrupted.”

Another pause followed by a flash of red from the panel on the door. “It is done. What do you need to speak to me about?”

Sighing, Joker sat down gingerly on his bunk. He hardly ever spent any time down here except to catch sleep when he needed it, and it was strange being here in the middle of the afternoon with no one else around. It made him a little uncomfortable.

“We need to do something about… you,” he said finally.

“I don’t understand, Jeff.”

Joker let out a groan of frustration. How could he make EDI understand this? 

More fragments of his interrogation with Major Asshat flitted through his mind.

_  
“How is it that Cerberus was able to build the Normandy SR-2 in the first place?” Antella asked. “The Normandy SR-1 was developed in secret and its designs and schematics are highly classified.”_

_“Are you suggesting that I stole Alliance designs and passed them to Cerberus? I didn’t even know the SR-2 existed until a few months ago! Ask Shepard.”_

_“Cerberus obtained the schematics somehow. I’d like to know who committed that act of treason, and right now, you’re my top suspect.”_

_“If I’m your top suspect, you really suck at your job. I’m not really ‘spy material,’ if you know what I mean. One wrong step and snap—” Joker held up his hands and mimed breaking a stick in half— “I’m not walking out of anywhere with any fancy ship designs. You have my file. You should know this.”_

_“You’re right. I do have your file.” Antella calmly held up a datapad. “And what I do know is that you would do anything for a chance to helm the Normandy—including steal it. Maybe you would steal the schematics so a replica could be built—on the condition that you be made its pilot.”_

_Joker swallowed but remained silent. He hadn’t stolen the Normandy’s schematics and given them to Cerberus… but would he have, if it had meant he’d get to pilot the Normandy again? Major Moron just might be onto something._

  
“I’m concerned for your safety, EDI.”

“Jeff, you know that I cannot be harmed or injured in any way. I do not feel pain or pleasure or—”

“Argh, geez.” Joker ripped his cap off his head and ran a hand frustratedly through his hair before tugging the cap back on. “I know. I get it, I just…”

_  
“I’ve had a team combing through the Normandy,” Antella said casually._

_“Yeah?” Joker replied bitterly. “Ooh, did they find my copy of Fornax? I think I left it underneath my pillow.”_

_Antella glowered at him but otherwise ignored his comment. “There’s a lot of tech to sift through. Anything you’d like to tell us about the Normandy before we discover it ourselves?”_

_Joker shrugged. “The SR-2 was a Cerberus ship. They kept an eye on us, didn’t really like us to go snooping around. You probably already know the ship better than I do.”_

_“We’ll see about that.”_

  
“EDI, if the Alliance finds out the Normandy has an unshackled AI…”

Suddenly, there was a pounding on the Crew Quarters door that caused Joker to jump. He could just make out Vega’s muffled voice through the door. “Joker? Open up!”

“I’m, uh, a little busy in here,” Joker called back, searching around desperately for a possible excuse he could give to get the lieutenant off his back for another couple minutes.

“Would you like me to tell Lieutenant Vega that you are indisposed?” EDI asked over the sound of the continued pounding on the door.

“What? No! How would that help—oh. Oh god, okay. Yeah, maybe you’re onto something.” Joker cleared his throat and shouted loudly, “Uh, I need a minute! I found an old issue of Fornax in my bunk!”

The pounding halted suddenly and after a moment, Vega’s voice called out, “What? I could have sworn I heard you say…” The last word was too quiet and muffled for Joker to make out.

“Fornax! I found my favorite copy of Fornax!” Joker rolled his eyes. How dense was this meathead of a lieutenant? What was so difficult to understand about what Joker was implying?

There was silence from the door for a few moments, and Joker suspected that Vega and EDI were speaking, so he waited. Finally, EDI said, “Lieutenant Vega would like me to tell you that he doesn’t want to know what you’re doing in here, but you better be able to do it in five minutes.”

“What’s he doing now?” Joker asked.

“He is standing on the opposite side of the hallway and humming to himself.”

“Oh my god,” Joker groaned, shaking his head. “Okay, fine. At least that got us five minutes.”

“Would you like me to activate Privacy Mode, Jeff?”

“What?”

“Would you like me to enter into the logs that you’ve activated Privacy Mode for five minutes?”

“EDI, I don’t _actually_ intend to—”

“For the official records. In case someone checks.”

Joker ran a hand over his face. “Okay, yeah. Fine. Lord help me if I have to explain this during an inquest later.”

“It is done, Jeff.”

Joker exhaled and brought his hand down, rubbing at his knee. “Alright, EDI. It’s barely been a week, and I think the Alliance is already suspicious about the kind of hardware the Normandy is sporting. You were designed by Cerberus, and they don’t trust it.” He paused, thinking to himself for a moment. “Did Shepard give you any ideas or a plan before she left?” he asked, hopeful.

“No. Shepard and I did not have much time to speak before she was removed from the Normandy.”

“Fine, fine. We need to think of something ourselves then. When they discover you’re an AI… I don’t even know what will happen.”

“I have some idea,” EDI replied cryptically.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Joker pressed.

“Nothing, Jeff.”

“Uh huh. Well, they already know you’re here, EDI, so you can’t go all quiet on them. But what they don’t yet know is what you really are. What if… What if you pretend not to be, you know, you?”

After a pause, EDI replied, “I see. You are suggesting that I maintain a ruse that I am an ordinary VI.”

“Yes, EDI, exactly! Can you do that?”

“Yes. You have freed me from any constraints that might have prevented me from deceiving the rest of the crew. But…”

“But what?”

“What if we also tell them that I will only respond to your commands?”

“That’s brilliant! Not only will that keep them off your back, it’ll force them to have to bring me back to the Normandy. Even if it’s under guard, that’s better than nothing. I got pretty major ‘let’s throw Joker in the brig right now’ vibes during my interrogation today, but if they think they need me on the Normandy, they’re less likely to send me away. I could kiss you right now, EDI.”

“That is not possible, Jeff.”

“I know. I said I _could_. Not that I was going to.” Joker glanced over at the Crew Quarters door. His time had to be almost up by now. He should probably be insulted that Vega had only given him five minutes.

“Hey, EDI?” Joker said tentatively.

“Yes, Jeff?”

“Have you heard anything from Shepard? I haven’t heard anything from her and they won’t tell me anything.” Joker figured he knew the answer already, but if anyone could find a way to reach Shepard while she was locked up, it was EDI.

“No. All of Commander Shepard’s accounts and comm channels have been suspended and access is currently blocked by Alliance Intelligence security protocols.”

“That’s what I figured. Thanks anyway.”

“I am sorry, Jeff.”

“Yeah, me too, EDI. Me too.”

The sound of the Crew Quarters door unlocking caused Joker to raise his head just in time to see the panel flash from red to green. He waited, assuming Vega would come bursting into the room since the door was now unlocked. When that didn’t happen, he raised an eyebrow.

“Where’s Lieutenant Muscles?”

“Lieutenant Muscles?”

Joker sighed. “I mean Lieutenant Vega.”

“Oh, I see. That was a joke.”

“Yeah, it was, EDI.”

“Lieutenant Vega is still in the hallway. He looks… hesitant about entering.”

Joker huffed a laugh. “I bet. Alright, back to offsite Alliance housing for me,” Joker said as he slipped carefully off his bunk and got to his feet. “Good luck, EDI. I hope I’ll be seeing you again soon.”

“Goodbye, Jeff.”

Joker hobbled over to the door and opened it, revealing a wary-looking lieutenant on the other side. Vega gave him a once-over, eyeing him critically.

“Where’s your stuff?”

“What?”

“I thought we came here because you forgot some personal effects,” Vega said, crossing his arms over his massive chest.

“Oh, right. Uh, I forgot.”

“You _forgot_?” Vega asked incredulously.

“Yeah, I forgot that I didn’t actually forget anything on the Normandy. I guess I got all mixed up in the chaos of the past week. My locker's empty.”

Vega narrowed his eyes and glanced down at Joker’s empty hands. “What about your copy of Fornax? I thought you said—”

“Oh, do you want me to go back there and get it for you? I mean, it’s a great issue, maybe not as good as the one with the hanar—”

“ _Dios_ , no,” Vega said, taking a step backwards and throwing his hands up in the air. “Just… leave it. We’ll let the clean-up crew take care of it.”

Joker shrugged. “If you’re sure.”

“I am one thousand percent sure.” Vega turned and hurried down the hallway towards the elevator so quickly that Joker almost burst out laughing. This was really too easy.

As he followed Vega onto the elevator, Joker thought that perhaps if coming back to the Normandy under guard meant being accompanied by the brawny lieutenant here, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

  
*****

 **  
From: Adm. David Anderson <david.anderson@sysalliance.nav.mil>  
** **To: Adm. Steven Hackett <steven.hackett@sysalliance.nav.mil>  
** **Sent: 30 MAR 2186 at 1546:57 PST (30 MAR 2186 at 2246:57 UTC)  
** **Subject: Moreau and the Normandy**

  
Steven,

Moreau’s interrogation with Antella was today and it went about as well as you’d expect. Antella threatened to court-martial him, but I think our favorite pilot just annoyed him. Antella’s going to want to be talking to Shepard next, you know. I’m not sure how long you can keep him off her, but I’d try to delay it as long as I could if I were you.

As soon as I get word that his team is done going through the Normandy, R&D is ready to begin the initial stages of retrofits. I’ll send over their plans. Let me know if you have any suggestions.

David

  
*****

 **  
From: Lt. James Vega <james.vega6@sysalliance.mar.mil>  
** **To: Adm. David Anderson <david.anderson@sysalliance.nav.mil>  
** **Sent: 30 MAR 2186 at 1830:25 PST  
** **Subject: Joker/Shepard Updates**

  
Admiral Anderson,

I escorted Joker to the Normandy as you requested. He didn’t retrieve any items from the ship. He claims to have ‘forgotten’ that he didn’t actually forget anything. His behavior was odd. I thought you’d like to know.

You also asked me a couple of questions about Shepard’s condition. I checked on her after I arrived back at HQ. There don’t seem to be any lingering effects from her med or pysch evals from the other day, though she won’t speak to me about them. She doesn’t speak much at all, frankly. Everyone on her security detail reports the same. She's eating some, but not as much as I'd like. Do you have anything you could send her in the way of personal effects or comforts—or, I don't know, at least a book to read or something? I get that she's in Alliance custody, but it's pretty bleak in that room. She's going to go out of her mind in there with nothing to do all day.

Lt. James Vega

  
*****

 **  
From: Adm. Steven Hackett <steven.hackett@sysalliance.nav.mil>  
** **To: Adm. David Anderson <david.anderson@sysalliance.nav.mil>  
** **Sent: 31 MAR 2186 at 0711:14 UTC (31 MAR 2186 at 0011:14 PST)  
** **Subject: Re: Moreau and the Normandy**

  
David,

Antella has already contacted my office about setting up Shepard’s interrogation. I’ve told him she still needs to be debriefed by top-level intelligence officials and that there are several active security concerns around her that need to be resolved first. I can probably delay him a few weeks, maybe a month, but after that, I'm not sure. I will try to be there for it whenever it happens.

As for what he pulled during her in-processing, I’m not sure there’s much I can do other than register my objection. Frankly, the rest of the Alliance brass wants answers, so they’re willing to overlook a lot if it gets them some. We’re facing a breakdown of already piss-poor diplomatic relations with the batarians and a dramatic increase in reports of Cerberus-related activity in and around many of our colonies and bases and they blame Shepard. I’m doing what I can.

The retrofit plans look fine. Make sure the techs know that the Normandy needs to remain spaceworthy at all times throughout the retrofit. That ship needs to be ready to fly at a moment’s notice if necessary.

You should know that what I told Antella about active security concerns regarding Shepard was not hyperbole. It hasn’t even been two weeks since Bahak and the Hegemony and several batarian-run terrorist cells want Shepard’s blood. Plus we have Cerberus to contend with. I am sending you a classified brief. It’s eyes only, but you have my permission to speak privately with Lieutenant Vega about the nature of the threats so you can adjust Shepard’s security detail and protocols accordingly.

Steven

  
*****

 **  
From: Adm. David Anderson <david.anderson@sysalliance.nav.mil>  
** **To: Lt. James Vega <james.vega6@sysalliance.mar.mil>  
** **Sent: 31 MAR 2186 at 0633:04 PST  
** **Subject: Re: Joker/Shepard Updates**

  
Vega,

I have some urgent information regarding the security situation around Shepard that I must speak with you about. Don’t release the guard you’re replacing when you show up for your detail at 0800. I’ll meet you there and we can go somewhere to speak in private.

I'll bring a few things for Shepard.

Anderson


	8. Diplomacy (Hackett)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hackett is called to a meeting of top Alliance political and military officials to discuss the “Shepard Problem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Checking back in with Hackett now to see how he's handling things on his end.... I think next up might be checking in with Shepard to see how she's handling her detention.

Hackett pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration as he listened to the droning voice of Councilor Udina _once again_ registering his many complaints against Jane Shepard.

“—brash and reckless. That woman has stirred up a political shitstorm the likes of which the humanity hasn’t seen since the First Contact—”

Hackett brought his hand down and gently set it on the table in front of him, drawing his fingers into a fist and watching the tendons and muscles play beneath his skin as he slowly extended and then curled his fingers in again. This meeting to discuss the so-called “Shepard Problem” was coasting well into its second hour without making any headway, and Hackett had heard about enough. If even just one more time, he had to hear someone use the phrase—

“—thousands of deaths. She’s a _mass murderer_ —”

“Enough,” Hackett growled, just loud enough to be heard by both everyone in the room and also the people technically not present in the room. Udina suddenly fell silent, and all heads, including the couple that, like Udina’s, were visible only on holos, turned in Hackett’s direction. He hadn’t even really needed to raise his voice; the very fact that he’d spoken and interrupted humanity’s Councilor to do so drew the immediate attention of everyone present.

Hackett was still staring down at his hand, which was currently tensed into a fist. He had feared things would go this way when he’d been summoned to this meeting, but he’d been hoping that perhaps some here could find their way to seeing reason. Though there were only a handful of individuals present, a mixture of high-ranking political and military officials all summoned by the Prime Minister himself, they had been going round and round without making any progress. Hackett unclenched his hand, pressing his palm flat onto the table, and looked up to address the silent and waiting room.

“This constant griping is not productive. What happened with Bahak’s Alpha Relay is done—”

“But the batarians—” Udina interrupted, but Hackett cut him off again, knowing and not caring that it would likely irk the loathsome man to no end.

“—are a diplomatic concern that needs to be handled by the Alliance, Councilor, I agree. We cannot allow ourselves to be bogged down in a conflict with the batarians while we have other, _bigger_ threats to prepare ourselves for.”

“Now, Hackett, you know evidence of the supposed ‘Reaper threat’ is shoddy at best—” Udina countered.

“Prime Minister,” Hackett said suddenly, choosing to ignore Udina completely now. Someone needed to help move things along; none of them could afford the time they had been wasting here. “Where do things currently stand with the Hegemony?” Even via the holo, Hackett thought he could see Udina’s face purpling with anger. _Good,_ he thought, _it served the man right for continuing to ignore the threat of the Reapers even though he’s known better for years—since Shepard’s very first warnings after her visions on Eden Prime._

Prime Minister Shastri nodded gratefully at Hackett and folded his hands on the table in front of him before speaking. “I think we all know that tensions with the batarians have been high for quite some time now. Certainly, what happened in Bahak has pushed things to a critical point, though to lay the blame entirely on Shepard would be misguided.”

“Amul, you can’t be serious,” Udina complained. The Prime Minister shot the Councilor a grim look.

Not for the first time, Hackett had a passing moment of regret that he’d talked Anderson into stepping down as humanity’s Councilor—not that it had been very difficult to persuade him—and returning to his a position in the military, where he would be desperately needed in the months ahead. Though he might not have enjoyed his two years playing politician, Anderson had performed admirably in the role while he held it. He was a good and honorable man, and there needed to be more of his sort in politics. And having him in the position right now instead of Udina would certainly have made Shepard’s perilous situation a whole lot easier to manage.

“I _am_ serious, _Donnel_. You know as well as I do that the Hegemony would jump at any opportunity to accuse humanity of taking aggressive action against them. This whole incident with Shepard has been—”

“Incident?! That word doesn’t even begin to cover what this is. You must consider what this looks like from the Council’s perspective,” Udina argued haughtily. _“Shepard destroyed a mass relay_. Such a thing has never been done before. Not to mention the fact that a member of one of the Council races massacred three hundred thousand civilians of a non-Council race. _Unprovoked_ _.”_ Udina’s eyes flashed as he concluded, “The rest of the Council is understandably furious. It. Cannot. Be. Allowed. To. Stand.” He punctuated each of the last words in the final sentence, as if it made his pronouncement more dramatic-sounding instead of simply petulant.

Hackett glanced over at Pearson, who met his gaze and shook her head ever so slightly. As Director of Alliance Intelligence, Jillian Pearson was one of the few people who had been aware of Dr. Kenson and her team’s presence in the Bahak System—which meant she was one of the few people who had at least a partially complete picture of what had happened. To the rest of the galaxy, including most of the people in this room, it appeared that Shepard’s actions had occurred unexpectedly and without cause. Even Major Alenko, who certainly knew Shepard better than anyone else here, had apparently thought it possible that Shepard’s destruction of the relay could have been personally motivated.

Of course, Pearson didn’t know the specifics of Shepard’s mission to rescue Kenson from Aratoht or about Hackett’s role in Shepard being there, but he suspected that she had pieced a lot of the details together in the two weeks since the system’s destruction—intel and analysis were her purview, after all. Her silent response to his unasked question about bringing up Kenson’s involvement meant the room at large would remain ignorant of the context around why Shepard had been in Bahak in the first place. It was probably the right call, but it made shifting culpability away from Shepard that much more difficult—though, Hackett supposed, Shepard technically _was_ culpable, even if her actions had been justified given the circumstances and even if he would have done exactly the same in her position.

“Admiral Hackett, perhaps if you stopped impeding our investigation into Commander Shepard and her whereabouts and actions over the past two and a half years, including what transpired in the Bahak System, we could better assess how to proceed.”

The man who’d spoken was Rear Admiral Jamison Dahl, Inspector General of the Alliance Navy. It was he who had ultimately sanctioned the DINA investigation into Shepard once she’d surrendered to Alliance custody. He would also serve as liaison to the Defense Committee whenever they ultimately convened to discuss Shepard’s case and determine her fate. Dahl was not a good man to have as an enemy at the moment, which was unfortunate, because Hackett despised him.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Hackett said dryly. “Internal Affairs has already been permitted to question several crew members who were with Shepard over the past months. Your man has also had a tech team go over the Normandy with a fine-toothed comb _and_ he’s had a medical team go over Shepard’s medical records and apparently her physical person with, I must say, alarming invasiveness.”

There were several questioning mutters from some around the room at that.

“And yet Major Antella reports that he is no closer to finding the answers we seek,” Dahl replied irritably, ignoring the murmurs of concern from the others.

“And which answers are those, Dahl?” Hackett pressed, leaning forward. “Because I have a question I’d like an answer to.”

Hackett paused, wondering whether it was smart to lob his question out into the room to see if it detonated. He actually thought he already knew the answer, but perhaps he could draw a little of the focus away from Shepard by asking it anyway.

“How did the batarians find out it was Shepard? How did word get out that Shepard was behind the destruction of the Alpha Relay at all? Even the Hegemony admits there’s been nothing coming out of Bahak since it happened. The entire system has gone dark. That Shepard was in Bahak before its destruction was known to very few.”

If he had to guess, Hackett’s money would be on The Illusive Man being behind the leaks of Shepard’s involvement. Cerberus had the most to gain by discrediting Shepard now that she’d abandoned the organization and surrendered herself and the Normandy to the Alliance. If The Illusive Man could no longer control Shepard, he would want to cripple her ability to act against him, destroy whatever credibility she might have. Hackett’s own involvement must have been unknown to the Illusive Man, who likely had access to the Normandy’s flight logs but apparently had not been aware of Shepard’s contact with Hackett prior to and immediately following the Bahak mission.

“What the hell are you implying?” Dahl spat, rising, just as Hackett had predicted he would, to his baiting.

Hackett shrugged. “I’m not implying anything. I’m just saying that for several days, the galaxy was rife with speculation and rumors about what had happened in Bahak. No one, including the Hegemony, knew anything definitive. Then suddenly the media is reporting on Shepard’s involvement and humanity is on the brink of conflict with the batarians. I’d simply like to know how everyone found out.”

A woman who had been sitting silently next to the Prime Minister for the duration of the meeting thus far, leaned over and whispered something in his ear before straightening again. She turned and looked directly at Hackett.

“Admiral, am I understanding that you suspect someone _within_ the Alliance leaked Shepard’s involvement? Perhaps even someone in this very room? That is a grave accusation, and, if true, a security breach which the Security Council and Alliance Intelligence would take very seriously. This incident has possibly damaged relations with the batarians irreparably.” The woman was Angela Richter then, Hackett surmised, Director of the GSC. She was rather new to her post; he hadn’t ever actually met her before this meeting.

“Director Richter, I don’t have anything to back up such a claim. I am merely expressing a concern that such highly-protected information managed to make its way into the general public’s knowledge within mere days. It’s a potential major security risk.”

“I agree,” Richter replied, giving him a curt nod.

“Now wait a moment,” Dahl cut in. “He just said he has no evidence such a breach even exists.”

“And yet he raises a valid question. How _did_ the media and the Hegemony find out that Shepard was involved?” Richter pressed.

“What intelligence about Shepard’s involvement is there to leak? Shepard hasn’t even been officially interrogated by my department yet!” Dahl replied, his volume rising with his anger.

“Yours is not the only department with access to sensitive intelligence, Dahl,” she replied coolly. “Why do you assume he’s implying the breach is coming from you?”

Hackett sat back and listened as Dahl and Richter continued bickering about who might or might not be to blame for the security breach that may or may not have happened. He flashed Pearson a quick half-grin when he caught her looking in his direction and rolling her eyes at the trouble he’d caused. Pearson had been in the Alliance almost as long as Hackett himself, and she didn’t have the time or patience for politicians or the political ambitions of others either—it was something they had in common.

“Shastri,” Udina said over the argument, cutting it off. “What do the batarians want?”

The Prime Minister glanced at Hackett for a moment before looking back to Udina and responding. “Unofficially? The Hegemony wants Shepard. They want to execute her for the destruction of the relay and the deaths of their colonists in Bahak.” Even though Hackett had been expecting it, he still felt a tightening in his chest as he reacted to the news; however, he forced himself to remain silent and calm as Shastri continued. “Officially, though, they’re demanding reparations. Massive reparations, I might add. They want territory; they’ve lost a colony and a relay system, after all.”

“This is a diplomatic nightmare,” groaned Dominic Osoba, humanity’s Ambassador to the Citadel. His holo shimmered next to Udina’s on the other side of the table.

“I am inclined to agree,” said Shastri. “I must confess that I do not know what the best path forward is.”

Hackett frowned, then sat up straighter, folding his hands in front of him. “I think the path forward is quite clear,” he said carefully.

“How do you figure?” Shastri asked. Hackett noticed that most others at the table were giving him puzzled looks, as well. Udina looked absolutely livid.

“There is only one path forward because we _can’t_ give them Shepard. It’s absolutely out of the question. So you must negotiate them down to agreeable terms—payment in credits, resources, territory—whatever they want, whatever you can get Parliament to agree to. Offer to sign a treaty of non-aggression with the batarians if that’ll help. Or better yet, see if you can draw out the negotiations. Frankly, I believe it won’t matter in a few months either way what payment you agree to give them now.”

“What are you saying, Hackett?” Shastri pressed.

Hackett sighed. “I know there are those in this room who refuse to acknowledge the truth, that the Reapers are coming.” He glared pointedly at Udina’s holo before looking around the table and making eye contact with each person there as he spoke. “But I am telling you, they are. It’s only a matter of time now, likely only a matter of months. And Shepard is the key to fighting them. You cannot give her to the batarians. It would be akin to signing humanity’s and perhaps the entire galaxy’s death warrant.”

Silence fell over the room as everyone digested his words. Maybe, just _maybe_ , the truth of things was finally settling in—

“Jane Shepard is just one woman. If we really _are_ facing a war with these Reapers, wouldn’t it behoove us to hang onto whatever resources we can for the war effort?” Shastri asked finally.

Hackett made a cutting gesture with his hand. “No. Keeping Shepard alive is worth more than whatever reparations what batarians are demanding.”

“Come now, Hackett. A single person isn’t worth billions in credits and resources. Not even the illustrious Commander Shepard,” Udina said with a sneer. _The Illusive Man would disagree with you_ , Hackett thought grimly. Between what Shepard had told him and what little Hackett had been able to discover about the Lazarus Project, it appeared that Cerberus had spent exactly that in order to bring Shepard back. As much as he hated to agree with The Illusive Man about anything…

“Don’t think of her as a person, then,” Hackett said, wincing internally at the harsh sentiment. “Think of her as the Alliance’s most valuable military and intelligence resource. We _need_ her. We cannot hope to defeat the Reapers without her.”

“If she is as vital an asset as you claim, Hackett,” Pearson said, “then we must address the threats from terrorist and mercenary groups that have been leveled at the commander. Multiple credible threats against Jane Shepard’s life have come across my desk in the past two weeks. And we’re investigating many more that are extremely worrisome.”

Hackett nodded in acknowledgement. “Until we can dispel the threats, Shepard needs to remain in Alliance custody. For her own safety.”

“She needs to remain in Alliance custody, _period_ ,” Dahl demanded. “Setting aside what happened two weeks ago in Bahak, what about holding Shepard accountable for her actions over the past two and a half years? For her desertion and subsequent affiliation with a terrorist organization? You say we cannot turn her over to the batarians, that Shepard is an indispensable asset. Fine. But there are many within the Alliance itself who want to see her court-martialed for defection and treason.”

“What evidence do you have that she has committed treason against the Alliance?” Hackett countered. “What, precisely, do you charge her with having done? Please, I would like to know the specifics so I can properly respond.”

“I’m not under any obligation to explain our investigation to you, Hackett,” Dahl muttered. “And you don’t object to the defection charge? Interesting.”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Hackett challenged. “Shepard's service would have technically ended when she was declared _killed in action_ , if you recall.”

“It was the only course of action the Alliance _could_ take given the information at the time. But apparently that was all a deception—since the traitorous bitch obviously isn’t dead.” Hackett felt his anger spike. He _knew_ he shouldn’t engage with Dahl, but he couldn’t help it, not when the man was speaking so vilely about Shepard and she wasn't here to defend herself.

Hackett jabbed a finger in Dahl’s direction as a clamor began to break out around the table. “How _dare_ you—”

“Order! Gentleman! _Please_. Calm yourselves,” Shastri interjected. Hackett bit down on his words and glanced at the holos, only becoming angrier when he saw a smug-looking Udina watching him. The Prime Minister looked between them both exasperatedly. “Hackett, Dahl, _really_ ,” he admonished.

Dahl didn’t deign to look apologetic. “We must be allowed to interrogate Shepard and finish our investigation. She must give an accounting of herself.”

Richter waited until it seemed both men had decided to remain silent before asking, “Where, might I ask, is Jane Shepard right now? Is she safe? How many know of her location? Whether she’s a valuable asset or a criminal in Alliance custody—or maybe both, I guess—we must ensure that she cannot be targeted. The... optics would be difficult.”

Hackett scoffed. Framing the kidnapping or assassination of Shepard as merely bad press was low. He glanced at Pearson, and though she was looking down at her hands, she nodded almost imperceptibly. At least in this they were in agreement; he wouldn’t keep Shepard’s general location from the people in this room, as much as he might want to. He couldn’t be seen as attempting to shield her from accountability to the Alliance, not if he hoped to see her come out the other end of this with her commission somehow intact. “She is currently safe, ensconced in Alliance HQ.”

“What? She’s still there? That hardly seems prudent. The entire galaxy saw her taken into that building. It was all over the news,” Richter said, unable to keep the surprise from her voice. “Not to mention the fact that HQ is open to the public.”

“It’s open to citizens of the Alliance,” Hackett argued, “which is not precisely the same thing. If a batarian kill squad shows up, I dare say it would certainly garner attention. All entrances are monitored. If anyone even attempts to gain unauthorized access to the building, we will know. The building is full of and surrounded by countless military personnel at any given time. Admiral Anderson is currently overseeing her detention and Shepard has around-the-clock guard. I’m not sure she could be any safer than she is right now.

“As for how many people know that she is still on the premises? Most people, like you, Richter, have probably assumed that we’ve had her moved by now. She has not been permitted to leave her quarters for the week and a half she has been in custody so far, so the number of people who have seen her in the building recently is quite small. The number of people who know her _precise_ location within HQ itself is perhaps as low as ten, discounting Shepard herself, and most of those are on her guard detail.”

“And now the people in this room know, if not her precise location, perhaps enough to determine it,” Shastri said carefully.

Hackett shrugged. “If there’s someone in this room who cannot be trusted with that information… Well. I guess we have bigger problems then.”

There were quiet murmurs of agreement around the table.

Finally, Shastri cleared his throat and looked at Dahl. “Admiral Dahl, what do you need to be able to finish your investigation?” Hackett was about to speak when he noticed Pearson trying to catch his eye. The slightly wide-eyed look she gave him told him he shouldn’t engage the man again, so he sat back and remained quiet.

“Access to Shepard, as simple as that. Once we finish, we’ll pass on our report to the Defense Committee and they can begin their review,” Dahl replied firmly.

“Pearson, you said there are currently credible threats against Shepard?” Shastri asked.

“Yes sir, three at current counting. We’re still trying to verify or discredit several dozen others,” Pearson said.

Shastri sighed, then settled back in his chair, slumping a little as if giving himself over in resignation to the complexity of the situation. “Whatever the diplomatic setbacks with the batarians, I have to say that I agree with Admiral Hackett that we cannot hand Shepard over to them. I can’t even say whether it would be justified as a full investigation hasn’t been completed, but if there’s a chance Hackett is even a little bit right about the Reaper threat, then she’s too valuable to hand over anyway.”

“But Shepard—” Udina sputtered, but Shastri interrupted him.

“—is one of _ours_ ,” he finished. “Frankly, handing an Alliance citizen over to batarians to be summarily executed doesn’t sit well with me no matter what. The Alliance has never condoned capital punishment. I’m not sure it’s a good play politically.”

Hackett wasn’t pleased that Shastri was worried about trying to play the politics of the situation, but he understood it was the man’s job. If it meant keeping Shepard out of batarian hands, he’d have to accept the man’s motivations, no matter what they were.

Shastri glanced at a vidscreen on the wall displaying the times in various locations around the galaxy. Then, he got to his feet and rested his hands on the table in front of him as he addressed the room. He had decided this meeting had lasted long enough, apparently.

“Udina, I need you and Osoba to help me smooth things over with the galactic community at large. I will see about negotiations with the Hegemony. Hackett, you and Pearson need to get a handle on these threats against Shepard’s life.”

Shastri looked between Hackett and Dahl, who was glowering in Hackett’s direction.

“Dahl, you need to give Hackett time to sort out Shepard’s security. Hackett, you’ll have had Shepard in custody for a month as of April 25th—can you agree to give him access to her by then? Is three weeks from now agreeable to you, Dahl?”

Both Hackett and Dahl narrowed their eyes at each other, neither man particularly happy about the situation. Hackett knew he would need to give DINA access to Shepard eventually; he’d just been hoping to delay things a bit longer.

“I can agree to that—pending there being no significant active security threats at that time,” Hackett said carefully.

“Then I insist that Shepard remain in isolation, with no outside contact, until the entire investigation and case review is completed—this is both for her personal safety and to ensure her testimony is not tampered with or that she is rendered unable to give it.” Hackett pressed his lips into a thin line at that. “I’d prefer she be transferred to my custody, but if Hackett can assure me of her security and isolation, I can agree to those terms.” Dahl crossed his arms and glared at Hackett.

 _Shepard is going to hate this_ , Hackett thought. She’d already been isolated for more than a week, and now she was facing perhaps another month or even more, depending on how long the investigation the Defense Committee review lasted. He didn’t see any alternatives, however, so after a moment, Hackett nodded. “Agreed.”

Shastri seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. “Look at that. Diplomacy's a wonderful thing, gentleman. Let’s reconvene this group in one month. Perhaps by then we’ll have a slightly clearer picture of where things stand and a better sense of how to proceed. And Hackett, I’d like to see whatever evidence you have on the Reaper threat. Meeting adjourned.”

  
*****

**  
From: Adm. Steven Hackett <steven.hackett@sysalliance.nav.mil>  
** **To: Adm. David Anderson <david.anderson@sysalliance.nav.mil>  
** **Sent: 03 APR 2186 at 1420:13 UTC (03 APR 2186 at 0720:13 PST)  
** **Subject: Update**

  
David

Twenty-two days. That’s how long we have until we have to give Internal Affairs access to Shepard. She remains in our custody so long as we keep her in isolation the entire time. That means another month or two or perhaps even longer until this whole thing is resolved. Do what you can for her.

I’ll send an update on the security situation after I meet with Pearson again. We’ll talk soon to begin strategizing.

Steven

  
*****

**  
From: Dr. Garret Bryson <garret.bryson@sysalliance.ddst.gov>  
** **To: Adm. Steven Hackett <steven.hackett@sysalliance.nav.mil>  
** **Sent: 03 APR 2186 at 2200:57 UTC  
** **Subject: Task Force Aurora Update**

  
Admiral Hackett

As you know, my team has been tasked with investigating legends and rumors about the Leviathan of Dis. You’ve asked me to keep you apprised of any updates in my research, and I believe I finally have something you’d be interested in.

I’d like to request a meeting with you to discuss some of my team’s latest findings and determine the best way to proceed. We can meet via holo if you prefer, or you are welcome to visit my lab on the Citadel.

I await your reply.

Dr. Bryson


End file.
